


Paralysis

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Mutual Pining, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: After Tony gets injured, he asks Clint, Natasha and Bucky on a simple mission to retrieve some Starktech from an international black market arms auction for him. Simple, that is, until everyone brings along their own private agenda. Steve wants Tony to take it easy while he's recovering, Tony wants to spend as much time alone with Steve as he can while the others are away, Bucky wants to try and put some distance between him and Clint so that he can choke off his crush already and Clint just wants to work out why Bucky apparently hates him.Then a guy from one of Clint's first missions with SHIELD turns up, and suddenly there's nothing simple about the mission at all.Warnings for consent issues, bad reasons to have sex, stalker behaviour and threats of rape.Huge thanks to 1electricpirate for betaing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All four chapters are written, I'll be posting them as I edit them. It shouldn't take much longer than a week.

It was a beautiful day, so Steve had set himself up on the balcony with a sketchbook for a couple of hours. He must have drawn the view of New York from the Tower a hundred times, and yet there was still always something new to set down on the page.

The light was fading and he was starting to think about going in when Bucky came out, already pulling out his cigarettes.

"Hey," said Steve. He got a nod in return. Right, one of Bucky's quiet days, then. He had fewer now than when he’d first arrived, a few months back, but there was clearly a lot in his head that he was still working through.

Steve let Bucky get his cigarette lit and take a few puffs, leaning on the railing and staring out at the city, before he spoke again.

"Aren't you usually at the range about now?"

Bucky shrugged. "Clint's down there," he said, as if that were any kind of answer. The range was more than large enough for the whole team to use at the same time, and Bucky and Clint were often in there together, competing against each other.

Before Steve could ask any follow up questions, there was a distant _thump_ and the whole building shook. He jumped to his feet, abandoning his sketchbook as Bucky tossed his cigarette to one side and straightened up, metal hand forming a fist.

"JARVIS, report," snapped Steve.

"There has been an explosion in Mr Stark's lab," said JARVIS. "Mr Stark is injured."

Steve was moving before the AI had finished speaking, sprinting towards the elevator.

"Is there any structural damage?" he asked. "Is the elevator okay all the way down?"

The elevator doors opened as he got there and stayed open just long enough for him jump inside.

"The damage was contained by the blast-proof shielding," said JARVIS, as the elevator started going down, far quicker than it usually did.

"Blast-proof shielding," repeated Steve. "Let me guess, it protects everyone except Tony when he's down there. How is he?"

"Sir has regained consciousness," said JARVIS and Steve felt his heart clench at the idea of Tony being knocked out. "However, he is trapped beneath his workbench and so I cannot fully gauge his injuries."

Steve clenched his jaw and ducked a nod. Oh god, please let Tony be okay. Hadn't he lost enough people already? 

The elevator doors opened and he dashed out into the basement that housed Tony's workshop. He had to pause while JARVIS opened the security doors and found himself shaking with impatience.

The view that met him when they finally opened made his chest tighten. The air was clouded with smoke, although Steve could hear the vents working overtime to clear it. There was a large, blackened patch against one wall where some big piece of machinery used to be and a circle of destruction fanning out from it, mangled metal and other debris thrown everywhere.

Tony's workbench had been thrown backwards and Steve could see him caught underneath it, pushing weakly at it.

"Jesus, Tony," he said, striding over and falling to his knees next to him. He reached out and then hesitated, not sure where he could touch without hurting him.

"Oh, hey Cap," said Tony, giving him a dazed look. "Could you maybe give me a hand? Can't get this off."

"Don't move," said Steve. Oh god, what was he supposed to do? There was no way he had enough first aid training for this. He couldn't keep himself from touching Tony, brushing over his shoulder just to make sure he was really there.

"I _can't_ ," said Tony, pushing uselessly at the desk again. "C'mon, Steve, c'mon, I need to—"He pushed at the desk, then made a frustrated noise and scrabbled at his chest instead. "Need to see."

"Stay where you are," said Steve. As much as he wanted to just lift the bench away and free Tony, he knew that doing so without medical assistance nearby was a bad idea. Still, not being able to do anything more than hover by Tony's side was making him feel useless in just the kind of way he hated most. "JARVIS, can we get an ambulance?"

"I have already contacted the emergency services," said JARVIS. "Sergeant Barnes has gone down to the lobby to meet the EMTs."

Steve hadn't even noticed that Bucky hadn't followed him down. He'd been too caught up in the fear of losing Tony to something as stupid as a workshop accident.

"Oh no, no," said Tony. "Don't need any of that, I'm fine, just need to check..." He patted at his chest again, and Steve realised he was going for the arc reactor.

He caught Tony's hand. "It's fine, Tony. The reactor's fine."

Tony shook his head. "Need to see," he insisted.

He was wearing a black shirt that was thick enough to hide the light from the reactor. Now that the idea of it being damaged had been raised, Steve was pretty keen to see it as well. A concussion was something the EMTs could deal with, as were any injuries the bench had done to Tony's legs, but the arc reactor and the shrapnel it kept in place weren't exactly standard procedure.

Plus, this was something Steve could actually do to help. 

The shirt was trapped against Tony's waist by the bench, so Steve took a firm hold of the neckline and ripped it apart, splitting it right down the middle.

"Oh," said Tony, still sounding dazed. "That was hot."

Steve very firmly ignored that in the interests of maintaining his sanity, because the truth was that he'd had fantasies about doing that in very different circumstances. Tony didn't mean anything by it, though, it was just the kind of casual flirting he did with everyone, even when he _didn't_ have a head injury.

The arc reactor was all in one piece, its distinctive blue light glowing steadily. "See, it's fine," said Steve.

Tony lifted his head up far enough to see it. "Oh thank god," he said, letting his head fall back. His hand came up to pat at the reactor. "Okay, awesome. Great."

There was nothing awesome about this at all. Steve's heart was still pounding with fear and he didn't see that calming down until Tony stopped sounding so out of it. How hard had he hit his head? What if there was permanent damage?

Steve wasn't ashamed to admit that Tony's body had prompted a lot of his more-than-friendly feelings for him, but it was his brain that he'd fallen in love with. It was so sharp, constantly whirring with new ideas and plans, almost all of them geared towards helping other people. If that had been damaged, even a little bit...

Steve took a deep breath and pushed the thought aside. Tony was going to be fine. He had to be.

"Just stay still until the EMTs get here, Tony."

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing," said Tony. "Hey, Steve? I think I fucked my leg up. It kinda hurts."

"Yeah?" said Steve, trying to sound casual even as his hand tightened on Tony's shoulder. "Anywhere else hurt?"

"Pretty much everywhere," said Tony. "Mostly my leg. And my head." He glanced around as if seeing the mess for the first time. "Oh man, my workshop. Hey, hey, where are my bots? Are they okay?"

Steve glanced around but couldn't see any sign of them. "JARVIS?"

"You and Butterfingers are fine, although Butterfingers is unable to right himself," said JARVIS. "Dummy has suffered minor damage to one of his wheels and more serious damage to his arm, but his internal systems are all still intact."

"Okay," said Tony. "Okay, okay, that's good. Hey, Steve, any chance you'd go and help Butterfingers out?"

Steve snorted. "Tony, have you seen yourself? Butterfingers can wait until I've seen you safe."

Tony made a face, but the elevator doors dinged before he could protest and the EMTs came in, followed by Bucky.

"He okay?" asked Bucky as Steve moved back to let the EMTs have access.

"Mostly," said Steve. He took a deep breath, trying to shove some of the anxiety away. Bucky pressed a hand to his shoulder.

One of the EMTs glanced over. "We need some way to lift this bench off him. I'm going to call for a crew with specialised equipment."

"We can lift it," said Steve, stepping forward.

The EMT looked doubtful and Steve clenched his fists. “Trust me. We can get it off him just as well as any machine you might have.”

“We're kinda stronger than most guys,” added Bucky, holding up his metal hand and splaying his fingers.

The EMT hesitated, then glanced at her colleague, who just raised an eyebrow in return. “Okay, fine. Just very, very slowly and carefully, yeah?”

Finally, something Steve could actually do that would help. He glanced at Bucky and took one end of the bench.

“Ready?” said the EMT. “Count of three.”

Steve fixed his eyes on Bucky's and they slowly, so slowly, lifted the bench free. It was heavy, but not nearly heavy enough for it to be a problem for either of them. Part of Steve wished it were heavier so that he felt he was having to actually put effort into helping Tony, but it was a weird, selfish part, so he did his best to ignore it.

As the weight lifted off Tony, he sucked in a hoarse breath and his face went white. “Oh holy fucking shit balls,” he swore in a fast flow.

The EMTs moved in as soon as the bench was free, hiding Tony from view. Steve and Bucky shoved the bench to one side and then Steve found himself hovering uselessly again. God, he might as well be sorting out Butterfingers for all the help he was to Tony.

“Left femur definitely broken,” said one of the EMTs.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath, then let it out, very slowly.

“Oh man, that sounds like the kind of thing you're going to make me go to hospital for,” grumbled Tony.

Steve moved over so he could glare at him from behind one of the EMTs. “Don't even, Tony. You're definitely going to hospital, and you're staying there until they say you can leave. No signing out against medical advice, I'm serious.”

Tony made a face. “Oh, come on, that's—”

“No,” interrupted Steve. “No arguing.”

“Okay, fine,” Tony said, changing tack way too easily. “You're coming with me then. Gotta keep me from getting bored.”

Steve let out a choked sound that was the closest he could get to a laugh. “Of course I'm coming, idiot. No way I'm letting you go alone.”

“Oh,” said Tony, and there was no way he should be surprised by that. Hadn't Steve been obvious enough that he cared about Tony's welfare? He always felt like he was being way too obvious, like he was running too close to Tony working out just how embarrassingly gone Steve was on him.

Tony did look surprised though, and then he gave Steve the kind of tiny, grateful smile that made Steve want to just grab hold of him and never let go. “I guess hospital won't be so bad then.”

****

The first week of Tony's broken leg had been manageable because he'd spent most of it either asleep, hyped up on painkillers, or both. It was during the following week that things started getting bad for everyone around him.

By the third week, Bucky was at the stage where if he heard crutches heading his way, he disappeared in the opposite direction as fast as he could, and he wasn't the only one. 

He was in the kitchen with Clint when they heard the tap-tap-tap of crutches approaching. Bucky froze up but Clint just set his coffee down, pulled himself up on top of the fridge, opened the air-vent and disappeared inside.

Bucky was staring up at the vent when Tony came in, already bitching about—whatever, Bucky hadn't been listening. Tony had been bitching pretty much straight for two weeks at this point, he didn't need to listen any more. When Tony saw Bucky was his only audience, he scowled and sat down heavily in a chair.

"This fucking leg,” he muttered. “Is there at least coffee?"

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, contemplating just leaving, but the heavy weight of guilt stopped him. He'd killed this guy's parents and was now living in his tower, the least he could do was get him some coffee. Plus, Steve would get all tetchy if he found out Bucky had just wandered off and left Tony to fend for himself.

Of course, that didn't mean he had to put any actual effort into helping. He grabbed the mug Clint had abandoned and set it down in front of Tony, who grinned. "Nice. Thanks, Terminator."

Bucky glowered at him. God, the guy was such an asshole. He picked up his own coffee and left him to it.

He made it most of the way to his room before Clint dropped down from a ceiling vent, landing right in front of him. The stretch of his body as he lowered himself pulled up his shirt, revealing a beautifully toned stomach. Bucky blinked and kept his face blank.

"You gave Tony my coffee," accused Clint.

Bucky shrugged. "You abandoned it."

"I was going to go back for it," said Clint. "'Leave no man behind', you know. The Avengers motto. Well, one of the Avengers mottos, along with 'Always carry spare ammo' and 'Don't go in Natasha's room unannounced.'"

"Coffee isn't a man," said Bucky. "And isn't that motto kinda sexist?"

Clint gaped at him. "Oh, hell no, I'm not being schooled on sexism by a guy from the forties," he muttered. "Fine, okay, leave no _one_ behind, happy now?"

"Sure," said Bucky. "I mean, I've got coffee, so I was already kinda happy." He gave Clint his best shit-eating grin. And see, this was the problem with Clint. One of the many problems with Clint. No matter how many times Bucky told himself he was just going to distance himself, somehow he always ended up being pulled in, until he found he had unfamiliar smiles taking over his face.

"Oh, you fucker," said Clint, and grabbed Bucky's mug out of his hand. Bucky held himself very still, pushing back the instinct to attack, and let him take it. Clint took a hearty swig, swallowing down several mouthfuls with his head tipped back, throat on display, then pushed the mug into Bucky's hand. He jumped up, catching the edge of the vent, levered himself up and disappeared into the duct again.

Right, okay. Great. Bucky looked back down at the mug in his hand, the one that had had Clint's mouth pressed against it, and thought about the flex of his biceps as he pulled up his entire weight. Yeah, he'd sacrifice a lot more than some coffee to watch that.

****

Two days later, Bucky was in the gym with Steve, throwing himself into a sparring session in the hope of letting out some of the tension that had built up when he'd found himself sharing the range with Clint that morning. Given how large the Tower was, it should be easy to put some distance between him and Clint, so why couldn't he ever seem to manage it?

About three weeks ago, it had been Bruce's birthday. Bruce had insisted he didn't want to celebrate, so they'd talked Tony down to just arranging for all the Avengers and a couple of their closest associates to have a few drinks in the communal lounge. Bucky had ended up sitting next to Clint, talking about— God, who even knew? Some of the stupid shit they'd seen Steve get up to, maybe. Whatever it had been, they'd both been laughing a lot over it. Clint had leaned his body towards Bucky's as he'd sniggered, his eyes bright and fixed on Bucky's.

Bucky had barely even thought about it. He'd copied Clint's lean, his face dipping towards Clint's, and it had only been when he'd been interrupted by Thor clapping his hands that he'd realised he'd been about to kiss the guy.

He'd sat back in a rush, mind whirling, as Thor started on some speech about how great Bruce was, which seemed to be an Asgardian birthday tradition. Bucky had hardly heard any of it, too busy trying to keep his breathing calm and hoping like hell Clint hadn't realised what Bucky had been about to do.

He'd tuned back in just as Thor had been wrapping up: “...For it is not the mighty deeds we do on the battlefield that marks the success of our team, but our dedication to comradeship and the brotherhood we foster between ourselves, and Bruce has shown himself to be truly a titan amongst us all at these things.”

“Hear hear,” Steve had said, lifting his glass of juice. “To Bruce.”

They'd all toasted Bruce as he'd gone faintly pink and ducked his head.

Brotherhood. Comradeship. Bucky was still trying to remember how to manage those things after decades of working alone, but he was damned sure that kissing your teammate wasn't part of it. Romantic entanglements only made things messy for everyone.

Bucky had glanced at Clint and thought about how he didn't even know if Clint would welcome a kiss from Bucky. It seemed pretty unlikely. He was still pretty much a mess, after all.

No, he’d decided, he needed to back off and make sure things stayed as they were. He'd stood up and headed for the kitchen, fixing himself a drink. When he'd come back, he'd sat next to Steve rather than Clint.

Since then, he'd spent as little time with Clint as possible, cutting back on the hours they usually spent playing computer games or competing against each other at the range. Clint had clearly noticed, if the faintly betrayed looks he gave Bucky when he ducked out on something were anything to go by, but better the guy thought Bucky didn't like him much than that he realised the truth.

Bucky's problem now was that lack of exposure meant that even only a half hour trying to ignore the way the muscles in Clint's back moved under his shirt as he pulled back his bow packed a hell of an impact. Especially as Clint had been in one of his really good moods this morning, the kind that came with a steady flow of jokes and wide grins. It took Bucky nearly two hours of sparring with Steve to cut through the desperate desire to just hunt Clint down and kiss him until he couldn't breath.

Not a good idea. He was much better off here, throwing all his energy into trying to get the better of Steve.

There was a faint chime and JARVIS's voice came on. "Sir has asked if everyone will convene in the main lounge as soon as possible."

Steve took a step back, running a hand through his hair. "Sure thing, JARVIS."

"Ten bucks says it's so he can whine about his leg some more," said Bucky, rolling his shoulders out.

Steve sent him a stern look. "He's an injured teammate. The least we can do is be supportive, Bucky."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I can do supportive, sure. I'll get him shit so he doesn't have to stand up and let him take the sofa so he can prop his leg up during movies and all that crap. Doesn't mean I'll sit through another rant about the frailty of the human body and the difficulty of living with a cast and whatever else he's got on his list for today."

"I doubt Tony's called a meeting just for that," said Steve, as they headed for the elevator. Bucky just snorted.

****

"...see, it's this stupid leg's fault," said Tony. "I could have done it by now if it wasn't for—"

Bucky sighed and let his eyes fall shut. Was the guy going to get to the point any time soon, or would they all be trapped here listening to him rant for the rest of the day?

Something soft hit him in the chest and he flinched awake, sitting upright with a violent motion. Tony stopped ranting to stare at him and Bucky blinked for a moment, then sat back. "Get to the point, Stark," he growled, trying to ignore Clint's grin.

"Right, yeah," said Tony. "Okay, JARVIS, put up the thing."

Bucky unfolded the ball of paper Clint had thrown at him.

 _If I've got to be awake for this, you've got to be awake,_ it said.

"Okay, anyone recognise that?" asked Tony.

Bucky glanced up at the screen. "It's a Stark Industries Sonic Taser Mark 1," he said, then looked back down at the note. He really wanted to write a reply and throw it back but that would be too close to flirting, so instead he screwed it back up and shoved it in a pocket. He told himself he'd throw it out later, ignoring the part of him that knew he was going to squirrel it away in the drawer that already held the arrowhead he'd found down the back of the sofa and the cheap tourist magnet Clint had brought him from Indianapolis back when he hadn't been allowed to go along on Avengers missions.

"Right, yeah, of course you'd know that. Thanks, Mr Weapons Encyclopedia," said Tony. "Okay, so, Stark Industries made a prototype run of 15 of these fuckers in 2006, back when we were still in the military contracts game. The Army decided they didn't want them, because they may be power-junkies but they're not completely batshit, so we never made any more. After Afghanistan, when I was tracking down all the shit that Obie scattered around the world with my name on it, I tracked down 11 of them and destroyed them."

"Am I gonna get mocked as an old man if I say I don't know what a sonic taser is?" asked Steve.

"Nah, it's pretty niche knowledge," said Tony. "Just, you know, you hang out with a bunch of guys who know way too much about super-advanced weaponry. It emits a sound at a frequency that causes temporary paralysis. It's pretty nasty, not gonna lie, it's on the list of bad ideas I really should have thought through more."

Steve frowned. "And there are four missing?"

"Yeah," said Tony. "They're on the list of SI tech that I haven't yet managed to track down."

"Hydra had one," put in Bucky. 

Tony turned and stared at him. “And you're only telling me this now?”

Bucky shrugged. “Hydra had a lot of shit. I didn't know you'd care.”

Tony let out a long sigh. “Okay, let's just recap, shall we? Hi, I'm Tony Stark, I became a superhero so that I could track down all the weapons my evil CEO sold to bad guys and destroy them. If you happen to know where any of those weapons are, it would be _real swell_ if you mentioned it to me.”

He fixed Bucky with a fierce glare. Bucky glanced over at Steve to see a faint frown on his face but whether it was aimed at Bucky or Tony, he couldn't say.

“Okay, well, that's not the story I heard on why you started dressing like a robot and blowing shit up, but fine,” he said. “They had one of those, I used it for a mission in—” His memory fritzed out and he winced. He remembered a dark warehouse and a frightened man he'd been sent to retrieve, but geographic details were lost. He shook his head and finished with the date instead.“—July 2008, then they put us both back in storage and I didn't see it again.”

Tony sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Okay, okay, fine. JARVIS, add tracking HYDRA's weapons storage to the list.”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS.

“I think they also had a couple of Mark 3 Stark Sonic Cannons,” said Bucky, thinking back to the armoury where he'd been taken to get outfitted. “Never saw them use those; non-lethal. Not really their thing. Oh, and they had a big crate of Tellor Propellant Rifles at the base in Uzbekistan, before it got destroyed. Don't know if they moved them out before that though.”

Tony sighed and rubbed at his face. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky heard him mutter into his hand. “Fucking Hydra. Did Obie have no fucking morals at all?”

When he looked back up, some of the spark had gone out of him and he looked old and tired. Steve, who was next to him, leaned over slightly, nudging his shoulder into his. Bucky watched the movement carefully, along with the way Steve didn't look at Tony as he did it.

Sam cleared his throat. “Not that this backstory isn't great, but is there a point to this? Cuz, I was meant to be somewhere.”

“Yes, there is most definitely a point,” said Tony. “Which is that JARVIS has caught notification of an illegal arms sale happening this weekend, and one of the lots is a sonic taser.” He spread his hands. “Usually, I'd just pop over there and sort it out myself, but this damned leg—”

“You want us to go and get it for you,” Natasha interrupted, before the rant could start again. She glanced back at the image on screen. “Where's the sale?”

“Monaco,” said Tony. “It's being organised by the Beletski brothers. Most of the rest of the auction is pretty standard, but Starktech tends to go for a lot now—something to do with scarcity, can't imagine what caused that—so the sonic taser is the centrepiece.”

Natasha nodded and glanced at Clint. “Sounds like Havana.”

Clint snorted and pointed a finger at her. “No cheese-wire.”

She gave him a sly smile that promised nothing. Bucky forced himself to look away and told himself he wasn't going to get jealous of Clint's best friend just because he couldn't get away with smiling at him like that.

“We can't all go,” said Steve, slowly. “There needs to be an Avenger presence here.”

“No sweat, Cap,” said Clint. “It won't need more than me and Nat. We've done this kind of stuff tons of times for SHIELD. And, uh, sometimes just for fun. If Tony's got all the intel, we should be able to just slip in, grab this doodad, and get out.”

“Thanks, guys,” said Tony. “Knew I could count on you. JARVIS, send them all the info you've got. I can set you up with hotel rooms, some spending money, all the gadgets you might need—”

Clint's face lit up. “Oh man, secret ops as funded by Tony Stark? Be still my beating heart. This is going to be so much better than Coulson's insistence on receipts for everything.”

“He only did that for you,” said Natasha. “And that was only after the incident with the motorbike.”

A look of fond nostalgia crossed over Clint's face. “Oh man, that was a sweet bike. That was a mission critical bike, I don't know why he got so whiny about it.”

“You rode it for three minutes,” said Natasha. “You could have just run that distance.”

Clint shrugged. “I'd have ridden it longer if it hadn't gone off that bridge. It was still pretty when it blew up, though.”

“Okay,” said Tony. “No one is buying any motorbikes, no one is riding anything off a bridge, and we're all going to try and remember that Monaco needs to still be standing at the end of this, okay?”

“Spoilsport,” muttered Clint while Bucky tried to cope with the mental images of Clint riding a exploding motorbike off a bridge. Christ, why did anyone let the guy out alone? He clearly need a babysitter.

“I'll go too,” Bucky said before his brain had even had a chance to consider it. Everyone turned to look at him as he tried desperately to work out why his mouth thought that would be a good idea. Getting some distance from Clint was a much better idea than going along with him on a mission that would probably end up with a lot of close quarters.

Clint grinned at Bucky, and it felt like Bucky's heart had stalled. “Awesome, you can help me talk Natasha into doing this properly.”

“Monaco really isn't going to survive,” said Tony, with resignation.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked Bucky, and Bucky knew what he was really asking: _Are you sure you want to go that far away when it was only a few months ago you were still having panic attacks in public places?_

Bucky looked back at Clint's smile, and nodded. Fuck it, no going back now. He'd just have to hope his heart survived this.

****

Steve insisted on hovering over Bucky as he packed for the mission.

"Any problems, let me know and I'll send out back up," he said as Bucky tried to decide just how many knives was too many.

"Sure thing," said Bucky, deciding that the last thing he wanted was to get caught short and throwing them all in.

"Natasha's good at running these sorts of missions, just follow her lead," Steve continued.

"Uhuh," Bucky said, adding a couple of guns, and then another one, for luck.

"Whatever you do, don't do anything Clint thinks is a good idea, especially if it involves explosives or grappling lines," said Steve. "Or if he's doing that grin, you know the one I mean."

Bucky did know the one he meant, and could pretty much guarantee that if Clint turned it on him, he was going to give in and do whatever he wanted.

"Got it," he lied, adding a couple of throwing stars.

"Tony's going to keep an eye on the official networks, make sure you don't get pinged anywhere, but Monaco doesn't have a warrant out for your arrest so you should be okay."

They were probably going to have to go incognito quite a bit on this mission. Bucky would need gloves to hide his metal hand. He threw in the pair he usually wore for sparring, as well as a spare pair of black leather ones that were the best he could do if he needed to attempt formal wear.

"It'll just be a quick in-and-out, should be easy," carried on Steve. "No big fights or explosions."

"Unless Tony gets involved," put in Bucky.

Steve made a face. "He's not allowed to get involved beyond monitoring things. I'll make sure of that."

"Just sit on him anytime he tries to put the suit on?" suggested Bucky. He should probably only take one set of body armour, but how did he decide which one?

"Uh, yes," said Steve. "Some form of distraction, anyway."

Bucky turned and gave him a look. "I think he'd be pretty distracted by that. I reckon it would make him come up with a whole bunch of stuff to do that doesn't involve his suit."

Steve shook his head. "No idea what you're talking about, Buck."

Right, of course. Because Steve and Tony both thought their epic pining for each other was subtle. Watching them had given Bucky a whole bunch of tips on what _not_ to do when trying to hide a crush on a teammate.

By all accounts, it had been going on for years but neither of them had ever acted on it. Bucky wondered if they were concerned about upsetting the team balance as well, which was stupid. Steve and Tony were basically the heart of the team, and pretty much acted like an old married couple already. The only difference them finally getting together would make was that there might be fewer melodramatic sighs and aching looks.

No way he could tell Steve that, though. He picked up a handful of spare ammunition and tucked it in a side pocket of his bag. "Right, course not."

Steve let out a long breath. "Look, Bucky. Just— Take care of yourself, yeah?"

"Always," said Bucky, throwing in a bit more ammo just in case and then, fuck it, another gun. He looked up and caught Steve's eye. "Don't go getting all soppy on me, punk."

Steve laughed. "Of course not," he said, which was possibly the biggest lie he'd ever told. "Just, it's weird watching you go off without me, I guess."

"It's been a few years," agreed Bucky. He looked back down at his bag. What had he forgotten?

Oh, right. Clothes.

****

They borrowed a quinjet to fly over to Europe and Tony arranged for them to land at a private airfield outside of Monaco where they hopefully wouldn't be noticed.

Being on a small plane with Clint and Natasha was a bit like being a third wheel. They seemed to have an endless string of in-jokes and pre-mission rituals, none of which Bucky knew anything about. He just sat back in the corner and tried not to glower at them.

About halfway across the Atlantic, Clint passed the controls to Natasha and came back to grab some coffee.

"Okay?" he asked Bucky.

Bucky managed a shrug.

"Right," said Clint. "Were you just going to keep going through your weapons all the way to France?"

Bucky looked down at his hands, which seemed to be sharpening one of his knives. Huh, he hadn't realised he'd been doing that.

"It's best to be prepared," he said.

"Yeah, no," said Clint. "There's prepared, and then there's 'whoops, I sharpened my knife down to a hair's width and now it's snapped'." He sat down in the seat opposite Bucky and pulled out a pack of cards. "I've got a better plan."

Bucky glanced down at his knife, then turned to tuck it away. "Fine, but I'm not playing strip poker."

"Aw, man," said Clint, starting to deal. "Spoilsport."

"My sanity thanks you," called Natasha from the front. "I've seen Clint's naked ass way too many times."

"Hey!" protested Clint. "What makes you think I'd be losing?"

"Experience," she said. "Plus, I should imagine the Bucky's poker face is pretty good."

Bucky put on his best blank expression and stared at Clint. "I don't know what she means."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, okay, fair. Fine, we'll have to go for Go Fish instead."

"But not Strip Go Fish," said Bucky, picking his cards up.

Clint sighed.

"Just accept that no one wants to see your ass and move on, Barton," said Natasha. Bucky looked down at his cards and kept his expression still so as to avoid revealing just how much he wanted to see exactly that. 

The trip got a lot more fun after that. The first thing that had drawn Bucky to Clint was how easy and friendly he was, with none of the reservations that, by rights, he should have had about hanging out with Hydra's trained killer. He'd been throwing out terrible jokes at Bucky right from the beginning and hadn't really stopped since, even when Bucky had started distancing himself.

By the time they landed, Bucky had forgotten that he wasn't meant to be grinning back at Clint every time he celebrated winning a hand with a dorky dance, or letting himself move forward so that their knees touched under the table whenever Clint shifted.

He'd find some distance again when they got back. A couple of days of indulging couldn't hurt, could it?

****

The look on Steve's face after they'd waved the quinjet off was kinda like a puppy watching his owners walk out the door without him for the first time. Tony wanted to ruffle his hair and give him a dog biscuit.

“Cheer up, Gramps, he'll be back soon enough,” he said, turning as gracefully as he could on his crutches to go back inside.

“Yeah, I know,” said Steve, but there was a note in his voice that meant there was going to be moping.

Oh, screw that. Tony had already decided that he was going to take advantage of the Bucky-free period to get as much alone time with Steve as possible. He wasn't going to spend it listening to Steve giving long, heartfelt sighs and staring off into space.

“Get the door for me, Cap,” he said. “And then we're going out. I'm thinking burgers.”

Steve frowned at the same time as striding ahead to open the door. “I don't know—”

“Nope,” said Tony. “Too late, it's already decided. Burgers at that insanely greasy diner you like, maybe a milkshake, definitely ice cream, and then we can watch some movies. You haven't seen _Toy Story_ yet, have you? You're going to love it.”

Steve shook his head. “You're still injured, Tony.”

“I can handle sitting in a diner,” said Tony, manoeuvring his way through the door. “Besides, the guys moving my workshop equipment aren't going to be finished until tomorrow. You wouldn't want me to get bored, would you?”

Steve hesitated and Tony knew he had him. Everyone who knew Tony at all knew that letting him get bored was the worst possible idea. Weird things started happening to whatever tech was closest to hand that usually only came to light the next time someone tried to use it and discovered the TV remote now had an AI who hated wildlife documentaries or the bathroom light now played 80s classic rock whenever someone brushed their teeth.

“Fine,” said Steve. “But I'm driving, and you're not allowed to make any old man comments just because I pay attention to the traffic laws, okay?”

Tony made a face, but nodded. That was a price worth paying to get Steve out of the Tower.

See, the thing with Steve was, Tony was completely and utterly head-over-heels for the guy, to an extent that was frankly embarrassing and probably way too obvious to everyone who spent more than thirty seconds with the two of them. Except for Steve, of course; Steve seemed completely oblivious to the whole thing, which was for the best really. Things would only get super awkward if he found out that Tony was basically writing their names together in hearts.

Because the other thing with Steve was that he was just as head-over-heels, but for someone else. Not that he'd ever said, of course, and he was slightly better at hiding it than Tony, but it was pretty clear to anyone who'd watched him fret by Barnes's bedside when he first came in from the cold, or who'd seen the way he followed him about the Tower, watching his every move as if it were some kind of miracle, or who had heard him talk about how grateful he was to have him back, emotion tingeing the edges of his voice.

And that was fine. Totally fine.

Well, no, it sucked, but what sucked worse was that Barnes didn't seem to have the faintest clue. Okay, so the guy was still dealing with decades of mind-fuckery and seemed pretty oblivious to almost anything outside that, but still. How he could let Steve go on pining after him without doing the first thing any sensible guy would and shoving his hand down Steve's pants was beyond Tony.

“Take us to the garage, JARVIS,” Tony said once they were both in the elevator, and the doors slid shut.

Steve let out a small sigh, frown creasing his face.

“He's gonna be fine,” Tony told him. “Clint and Natasha will have his back.”

“Just seems weird letting him go off alone,” said Steve. “Or, well. Maybe it's not that it's weird but that it's all too familiar. Like watching him enlist and knowing there was pretty much no way I was going to get to follow him.”

Christ, okay. Tony was going to have to work harder at this than he thought. “Except you did follow him,” he said. “Do me a favour, avoid the questionable military experimentation this time, yeah?”

Steve sent him a grin. “I think I can promise that. Burgers sound like a better bet.”

Hah, Tony had made him smile. Go him. He might not have a hope in hell of ever getting to shove his hand down Steve's pants, but at least he got to be friends with him and take him out for burgers when he was blue.

After all, it wasn't as if Tony was really relationship material. Friendship was already a tough ask from him, boyfriends would be...

Well, Steve was probably better off pining for the ex-brainwashed assassin.

****

Secret ops as funded by Tony Stark were the best thing _ever_. The car waiting for them at the airport was fast, expensive and a beautiful, shining purple.

"Do you think we could fit it on the quinjet to come back?" Clint asked, stroking his hand over the steering wheel and wondering what the best way to declare his eternal love to a car might be.

Natasha snorted. "It's a vehicle that we're using for a mission. Correction, that _you're_ using for a mission. It'll be scrap metal within 48 hours."

"Lies," said Clint, patting the car reassuringly. "It'll be fine."

Bucky cleared his throat from the back seat. "I'm beginning to get the feeling that I shouldn't ever let you drive if I can avoid it."

"Nope," said Clint. "It's just vicious rumours."

"Out of your last three missions, how many didn't involve you destroying a vehicle?" asked Natasha. "And Avenger missions don't count."

Clint thought back. Last three missions would be Islamabad, which, okay, that taxi had just been in the wrong place, then Taipei, that hadn't had any—oh, wait, the plane had crashed, not entirely his fault, but he had been flying it. Before that had been Tunis, which, right. Okay. Best not to mention that one.

"You know what, statistics aren't important," he said, ignoring Natasha's snort. "The point is, this is an awesome car and I won't let it get a scratch on it."

"Sure you won't," said Natasha, giving him the amused side-eye that meant she was humouring him.

Clint gave up on his protests and then was completely distracted when they pulled up at the hotel Tony had booked.

"Oh," he said, "now _this_ is how to roll. Natasha, why did we work for SHIELD for so many years instead of doing private contracts for folks like Tony?"

“Because of our pesky morals,” she said. “Most of the people who could afford this kind of op wouldn't be sending us on do-gooder missions.”

“Ugh, _morals_ ,” muttered Clint.

There was a valet waiting who took the keys from Clint, and a porter who took their bags—or tried to. Clint kept a firm hold on his bow case and he was pretty sure Bucky actually growled at the poor guy when he reached for his bag. Natasha let her bags be taken with all the calm that came from having ninety percent of her weapons stashed on her person somewhere.

They were shown up to an enormous suite and Clint immediately headed for the balcony.

"Oh fucking hell, yes," he said, staring out. "Hey, how long do you think we can string this out? If we tell Tony we need the suite for a couple of weeks, we could get some serious beach time in."

"I'm beginning to question the professionalism of SHIELD agents," said Bucky, following him out.

"It's not all SHIELD agents, it's just Clint," said Natasha.

Clint sent a rude gesture in her direction, but didn't look away from the view. They were up high enough for the sea to be spread out in front of them, dotted with boats that looked tiny from a distance, but were probably stupidly expensive and luxurious. Between them and the beach was a line of trees and a wide promenade, and not much else. Man, this had to be costing Tony what anyone else would think of as a fortune.

Natasha took her bag and disappeared into one of the rooms but Bucky stayed where he was, hanging back in the shadows of the balcony. There was the click of his lighter as he lit up a cigarette.

“Someone had the talk with you about the health risks of those, right?” asked Clint.

“At least three people,” confirmed Bucky. “I figure being a super-soldier's gotta count for something, right?”

Clint couldn't really argue with that, and it wasn't as if they didn't risk their lives in far more dramatic ways pretty much once a week. “I thought it counted for being able to do really impressive parkour.”

“That too,” agreed Bucky.

Clint looked around at the view again, then glanced over his shoulder at Bucky. "Okay, you're a sniper bro, you've got to admit this is an excellent perch."

Bucky turned his gaze from Clint's face out to the ocean in front of them. "Maybe if you were trying to take out a boat. It's pretty exposed, though."

Clint shrugged. "Plenty of furniture inside to drag out and use as cover."

Bucky nodded acceptance of that, then turned to look around. "I think I'd prefer to be on the roof."

"Oh, sure," said Clint, looking up at the roof. "Higher is always better, right?" See, this was why he liked having another sniper around. No one else on the team properly appreciated the joy of rooftops.

He turned away from the view and headed inside, taking his bag through to the bedroom Natasha hadn't claimed.

"I'm taking the bed by the window," he called out to Bucky. "Tough shit if you wanted it."

Bucky appeared in the doorway and stared at the room as if he'd never seen anything like it.

"We're sharing?"

"Yep," said Clint. "I mean, you could try and persuade Natasha to let you share with her instead, but I don't see that going well for you."

Bucky stood stock still in the doorway as if processing that took so much of his brain power that he was now frozen in place. Clint left him to it in favour of unpacking the important shit; his weapons, mostly.

Eventually, Bucky came inside and dumped his own bag on the other bed with what seemed to be resignation. Clint felt a bit stung by that.

Up until a few weeks ago, he'd have said that he and Bucky were pretty good friends, and had kinda been hoping they might be able to make it more than that, although he'd been prepared to take that really damn slow. And then something had changed pretty much overnight, and now Bucky kept avoiding him, as if hanging out with Clint was a chore he didn't want to have to bother with any more. Well, tough shit, the guy had wanted to come along on this mission, he'd have to put up with Clint.

"You should count yourself lucky this is on Tony's dime and not SHIELD's, because they'd probably have us all sleeping on the plane together," said Clint.

Bucky tucked a knife under his pillow. "You know, Hydra never made me share my cryotube," he muttered, then froze still and winced, sending Clint a sideways look.

Okay, see, this was why Clint liked him, because he'd been through an absolute nightmare for decades and then come out the other side able to make jokes about it. Jokes in pretty poor taste, sure, but those tended to be Clint's favourites.

Steve, because he liked heaping guilt onto his own shoulders, never reacted that well to them, which was why Bucky had started wincing once he realised what had come out of his mouth. Clint had the opposite policy, because he kinda thought the guy deserved to make terrible jokes if that was what it took for him to process it all.

"That's the kind of luxury only neo-Nazis can provide," he said. "Whereas we just got stuck with this massive suite in one of the top hotels in Monaco. Where's the justice?"

"And the car," Bucky pointed out.

Oh man, that car. Clint grinned at him. "Okay, I'd probably be okay with sleeping stacked up like sardines if it meant we still got that car."

Bucky stared at him, then turned back to his bag with a sharp movement. "I guess it's the little things in life," he said in a dismissive voice, as if Clint was lame for getting so excited about a beautiful piece of mechanical craftsmanship.

Man, there had to be some way to win this guy over. Clint didn't want to be on a team with a guy who didn't like him.

Maybe that should be his private mission goal: Make Bucky Barnes like him, or die trying.

****

They ordered room service and hashed out a rough plan of action, then Steve called and Bucky had to duck out of the room to talk to him.

"You know," said Clint, watching him go, "my best friend never mother hens me like that when I'm off on a mission. I'm beginning to think she doesn't care that much."

"Probably not," said Natasha. "Let's be honest, you're a pain in her ass and she relishes the peace and quiet when you're away."

“Oh, that's hurtful,” said Clint. “I mean, accurate, but hurtful.”

Bucky came back and sat back down without a word.

“So?” asked Clint. “What did he want? Reassurance you haven't cracked and started killing people, or to bitch about Tony?”

That earned him a long look, and he thought that if he wanted to make Bucky like him, maybe he should spend less time talking about him killing people.

“I think he's actually secretly enjoying having Tony immobile enough to stay in one place for a bit,” Bucky said, eventually. “He's told him that he's not allowed in his workshop alone in case he ends up hurting himself more, so they seem to have spent pretty much the whole day down there together.”

“Let me guess,” said Clint, “they're both giving each other heart-eyes when the other isn't looking?”

Bucky shrugged. “I'm guessing.”

Clint looked at Natasha. “Why don't we have a betting pool on that?”

She considered the question. “I think because we've been distracted,” she said. “Now seems like a good time to start, though.”

“Ten bucks says Steve makes the first move,” said Bucky, immediately. “But not for at least two weeks.”

“No way,” said Clint. “It'll be Tony, and if Steve just keeps staying in his space, it'll be soon. He's got no impulse control at all, plus he's on painkillers.”

Natasha picked up one of the pieces of paper they'd been using to plan on. “Let me start a book.”

“Nope,” said Clint quickly, ripping the paper away from her. “We're putting someone trustworthy in charge.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, then pointedly looked between him and Bucky. “Really? Trustworthy?”

She had a point. Clint thought for a moment, then grinned. “Yup. Hang on.” He pulled out his phone. “We'll get Sam to do it.”

“Sam,” repeated Bucky, sceptically. “You really think he won't just tell us we're being, I don't know. Unsupportive friends and bad teammates, or whatever?”

“Nah,” said Clint, dialling. “He'll probably wonder why we didn't think of it earlier.”

 _“Why the hell didn't we think of this earlier?”_ said Sam, as soon as Clint had explained. Clint gave Bucky a smug grin which earned him an eye-roll. _“Let me get your bets down and I'll call the others. They'll all want in on this.”_

“Don't forget Pepper. She'll definitely want in,” called Natasha, then held out her hand for Clint's phone. “Give me that, I want to get my bet down.”

She took his phone into the other room, which wasn't suspicious at all, nope. Clint followed her with narrowed eyes, wondering what the hell she could be up to that needed to be a secret.

“I guess she really doesn't trust you,” said Bucky.

Clint sniffed. “Maybe it's you she doesn't trust.”

The look Bucky gave him at that said it all. Clint sighed and tipped his head back. Oh yeah, this was going well. Maybe he should just concentrate on getting Tony's tech back and leave the interpersonal relationships thing for another time. A time far in the future, since he clearly still wasn't mature enough to deal with them right now.

****

Bucky got increasingly wound up as it got closer to bedtime, which Clint did his best to ignore. He got ready for bed as if there weren't a super-soldier hovering around the place twitching while Clint got changed.

It was the kind of hot night that Clint usually stripped off completely for, but he left his boxers on in deference to Bucky, then crawled under the sheet.

He glanced over at Bucky, who was staring at the wall with a fixed expression. "Turn the light out whenever you're ready."

Bucky turned to look at him and dipped a nod, then stood up from his bed with a jerky motion and disappeared into the bathroom.

Clint gave up on trying to understand the guy, pulled his hearing aids out and set them on the nightstand, and rolled over to go to sleep.

It was still hot when he woke up the next morning. At some point in the night, he'd kicked aside the sheet but that didn't seem to have cooled him down much. He flopped over onto his back and blinked his eyes open, and then nearly had a heart attack.

Bucky was sat on the edge of his bed, staring at Clint with a blank look and fiddling with one of his knives.

"Jesus Christ," said Clint, pressing a hand to his chest. "Please tell me you're not going homicidal, it's way too early for that. I need coffee first."

Bucky blinked and rolled his eyes, then said something Clint had no hope of hearing.

He shook his head. "Sorry, it's also way too early for lip-reading." He pulled himself upright and rubbed at his face, then rolled his shoulders to stretch them out. "I'm gonna have a shower. A lovely cool shower, and then I'll put in my aids, have coffee, and start being a functional member of the team. You just avoid stabbing me until then, yeah?"

Bucky kept staring at him but the blank look had softened down around the edges. He put his knife down and raised his hands, then signed, _Sorry. I didn't sleep much._

"Huh," said Clint. "Didn't know you knew ASL."

Bucky shrugged. _Had a lot of free time._

Right, yeah. When Bucky had first turned up at the Tower, there had been a good few weeks before he was allowed to even leave it, and even longer before he'd been made a full member of the team. Clint guessed there was only so much time you could spend in the gym, or trying to work through your mental breakdown, or whatever.

Of course, that didn't really explain why he'd gone for learning ASL, especially as the only deaf guy he knew was the guy he didn't seem to like.

Unless Clint had been reading that wrong, but—

Fuck it, it was too early to start analysing motivations. Clint pulled himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Shower, then coffee. Everything else could wait.

****

The auction was taking place at another hotel that evening. They spent the day doing recon, which revealed that there were a large number of international criminals gathering and that the security was even higher than they'd been expecting.

Nothing that Hawkeye, Black Widow and the Winter Soldier couldn't handle together, though. Or so Clint told himself as they got ready. Natasha took the longest, dying her hair a nasty brassy blonde and putting on enough fake tan to make her skin just faintly orange.

“You look terrible,” said Clint, when she came out.

“That is the point,” she said. “No one will recognise me as an Avenger like this.”

Clint frowned. “Hey, how come I don't have to dye my hair, then?”

She snorted. “No one will recognise you, Clint. Hardly anyone even knows your name. I suffer from the problem of being the only woman on the team, but you just get hidden behind Steve or Thor in photos.”

She had a point, but that didn't mean Clint wasn't going to have a sulk over it. He saved the world just as much as those guys, right? Well, okay, not so much, but still. He helped.

Natasha had put together the plan. She left first, dressed as one of the waitresses for the event. She had with her a device that Tony had given them which would do something Clint didn't understand to the security system. There was a reason he usually left the electronic stuff up to Natasha.

Meanwhile, Clint put on a suit and did his best to make himself look like a super-rich guy looking to buy some illegal weaponry. He'd go into the drinks reception and get hold of the fingerprints of Beletski's Head of Security, which they needed to access the room where the auction lots were stored. Bucky was going to pose as his chauffeur, hanging around outside with the car until Clint had the prints and Natasha had hijacked the security system, then he was going to cause enough of a disturbance to drag most of the security out to the front, giving Clint and Natasha a window to sneak in, grab the taser, and get out.

It was a great plan, except for the part where Clint didn't get to drive the car at any point.

"This is totally unfair," he said, climbing in the back as Bucky took the wheel.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know, seems perfectly legit to me," he said, stroking his hands over the wheel. "You're not the only one that appreciates a fine machine, you know."

The other thing that was unfair was how good Bucky looked in a chauffeur uniform. Something about the hat just made him look smoulderingly handsome and, seriously, why didn't the guy like Clint? Not fair.

Clint tugged at his bow-tie, wondering why he didn't look half as good when he was in a tux as Bucky did in-—well, in just about anything.

"If you mess that up before you get there, Natasha's going to take you out back and shoot you," said Bucky, glancing at Clint in the rear-view mirror.

Clint made a face but dropped his hand. "I fucking hate bow-ties."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," said Bucky. "You've done nothing but whine since Natasha said you'd be going in to the auction."

Clint made a face. "I don't whine," he muttered. "Just, I look like an idiot in this get-up."

Bucky made a strange noise, then shook his head. "You look fine," he said. "Trust me."

There was an intense tone to his voice that made Clint think maybe it was time to stop complaining before he really pissed the guy off.

They pulled up at the hotel where the auction was taking place not long after that, and Bucky hopped out to open the door for him. Clint took a deep breath, put on his best International Arms Dealer expression and got out.


	2. Chapter 2

The pre-auction drinks party was already in full swing when Clint got there. He waved the invite Natasha had totally not stolen for him at the doorman and headed inside, grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing waiter's tray. Time to blend in.

He glanced around the room, not letting his eyes linger on where Natasha was circling through the crowd, carrying a tray of crab puffs. Oh man, crab puffs, Clint loved crab puffs. He sidled over to another waiter and took as many as he could carry.

_"Clint,"_ said Natasha over the comms, _"Try and concentrate on the job and not the canapés."_

No reason he couldn't do both. He was one of SHIELD's top agents, he could totally run a mission and eat crab puffs at the same time. He moved into a corner, out of the way, then glanced around at the room. Right, that guy over there was his target, he just needed to get close to him and—

"Daniel," purred an accented voice close behind him. "Or possibly Mike. Or are we on yet another name tonight?"

A hand touched his shoulder and Clint turned, taking a step back when he realised how close the guy was. Crap, who the hell was this?

Expensive suit, chunky watch, Russian-sounding accent: could be any one of a hundred guys Clint had met over his career. He was good-looking in a smarmy kind of way, but if he was at this party then he wasn't anyone Clint wanted to get involved with.

"I think you've got the wrong guy," he said. "My name's James."

There was a long-suffering sigh from Bucky over the comms. _"Fucking unimaginative,"_ he muttered. Clint held in a grin. If he couldn't get the guy to like him, the least he could do was wind him up every chance he could. After all, that was how he'd got Coulson to like him.

He was ninety percent certain Coulson liked him, and didn't just humour him because they occasionally worked together.

"James," said the man slowly, savouring the word. "Well, you'll always be Daniel to me. And you're exactly the right guy, don't worry about that. I've been hoping to run into you again for years."

Oh man, this was trouble. Clint cast his mind back, trying to remember when he might have used Daniel as an alias, and drew a blank. Mike he'd used quite a few times, so that wasn't going to get him anywhere either.

"And now you have," he said. "Anything I can help you with?"

The smile he got in response was extremely predatory, and the guy also moved in to slide his hand down Clint's arm. "Oh yes, most definitely. The same thing you gave me _assistance_ with in Washington would make an excellent start."

Wow, that was a pretty serious leer and—oh man, Clint knew exactly who this guy was. He'd cut his hair short, but Clint recognised the look in his eyes with a sinking feeling.

Shit.

****

At the time, Clint had been at SHIELD for less than six months, which meant he was running around doing all the tiny jobs that other, more senior agents, needed to be done in preparation for a proper mission. That day, he was going after some shady security guard who had a keycard SHIELD needed to clone so another agent could infiltrate somewhere Clint didn't have the clearance to know about.

The guard had a bar he liked to go to after work, so Clint had set himself up there with a drink, waiting for him to come in. He didn't really have a plan, but he didn't think he needed one. He'd picked plenty of wallets in his time.

Except, of course it wasn't that easy. When the guy came in, wearing the kind of cheap suit that basically screamed _private security_ , he headed straight for the bar and ordered a drink, then pulled out his wallet from where he was keeping it zipped in an inside pocket of his jacket. Clint was good, but he wasn't that good—at least, not without a distraction.

Once the man had his drink, he turned to look around the bar and his eyes immediately settled on Clint, who looked down at his glass and pretended he wasn't paying attention. The guy's eyes lingered and Clint had a horrible moment of thinking he'd been made, until he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror over the bar and realised it wasn't suspicion in those eyes but something much more useful.

Hell yeah! If the guy approached him, this would be so much easier. Clint flicked his eyes over to him and gave him what was hopefully an encouraging look, and the man sauntered down the bar towards him.

"I haven't seen you here before," he said, and Clint had to work hard to keep the triumphant grin inside.

"I'm just passing through," he said, turning to face the man. Huh, he was hotter in person than in the photo Clint had been given. He was tall, with dark eyes and light brown hair that fell almost to his shoulders. Clint had always had a thing for guys with long hair.

"Then I should imagine you could do with some company," said the guy, sliding into the seat next to Clint. "Hello, I'm Anton."

"Daniel," said Clint, shaking Anton's hand. "Good to meet you."

"Oh yes, it's exceedingly _good_ to meet you," said Anton, letting his eyes slide down Clint's body and wow, this guy didn't do subtle at all, did he? "Let me buy you a drink."

Clint grinned at him and threw back what was left in his glass. "Go for it."

One drink led to two led to three, and Clint wasn't actually any closer to completing his mission but he was having enough fun to not really mind. If he'd been out on his own time and met this guy, he'd probably have taken him back to his by now. The way he made no secret of his interest was more of a turn on than Clint would have thought.

If he did go back to the guy’s place, of course, he’d be able to get the wallet off him in a moment of post-coital bliss. No, that was a terrible plan, there was no way even Clint was stupid enough to do that. Way too many risk factors involved. 

Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't adapt it a little.

"So, where are you staying while you're in town?" asked Anton, moving in to bracket Clint with his arm.

"My sister's," said Clint, then made a face. "Hence why I'm hiding out here." He made a show of looking at his watch. "I’ve gotta head off soon though, or she'll send the police out after me. She's a bit over-protective."

"That's very disappointing," said Anton. "Of course, if you were willing to risk her wrath, my apartment is very close by..."

Clint allowed a look of temptation to creep over his face, then reluctantly shook his head. "Nah, sorry. I was only meant to be here for one drink, I'm already pushing my luck." He hesitated for just long enough, then gave Anton a sly smile. "You know, the disabled toilet cubicle here is pretty large..."

Anton was out of his seat almost before Clint had finished speaking, taking Clint's hand. "That is an extremely good point," he said. "Intelligent _and_ sexy, I like it."

There was no subtlety at all in the way he led Clint back towards the washroom. The barman gave them a faintly resigned look that said he was all too used to this kind of thing, which meant they didn't need to worry about being interrupted.

Anton pushed Clint up against the wall the minute the door was locked behind them, kissing him with a great deal of passion. Clint took hold of his waist and let him get away with it for a moment, then pushed him away and gave him a grin.

“Been thinking about getting you out of this suit pretty much since I saw you,” he said, smoothing his hands over the lapels. He slid his hands inside and tipped the jacket off, and Anton moved his hands so that it would fall to the ground. Okay, great. Wallet isolated, now Clint just had to get to it.

“These are not exactly ideal circumstances for a striptease,” said Anton.

“No,” agreed Clint, pulling at Anton's tie until it was loose enough for him to open his collar. “Sometimes a little goes a long way, though.”

He bent forward to suck at the junction between Anton's neck and his shoulder, then mouthed at his collarbone. Okay, so, this guy may be some kind of super-shady security guy, but he really was hot, and it had been way too long since Clint had got laid.

“Oh, so eager,” said Anton, breathlessly. “I approve.”

“I'll show you eager,” Clint promised him, and dropped to his knees.

“Oh, yes,” said Anton in a low voice, and Clint glanced up at him to see his eyes had gone dark. He rested a hand on Clint's shoulder, then cupped his chin with his other. “This, I also approve of.”

Clint grinned at him, then set about getting his trousers open. The jacket was close enough for him to reach and it had fallen with the zip pocket on show, but Clint couldn't risk going for it until Anton was distracted.

Good thing Clint was fucking awesome at sucking cock. Anton was already most of the way hard, so Clint ran his tongue up the underside of his cock to make sure he got all the way there. Anton let out a gasp and his grip on Clint's shoulder grew tight enough to hurt.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, just like that.” He rubbed his thumb over Clint's mouth, then shifted his grip to pull him forward.

Right, so he was the bossy type then. Clint probably should have seen that coming. He opened his mouth and sucked Anton's cock down as much as he could, then set about blowing his mind so thoroughly that he'd forget all about his wallet, and pay no attention at all to what Clint might be doing with it.

“So perfect,” said Anton in a breathless voice, clutching at Clint's hair. “Your mouth is so beautiful, Daniel.”

Okay, bossy and a talker. Clint didn't really mind the bossy, but he wasn't much for a running commentary on what he was doing. He wondered if there was a way to get Anton to fall silent, if he just ran his tongue around his cock like _that_ and then pulled back to suck hard on the head like _this_.

“Daniel,” moaned Anton. “Oh, Daniel. Yes, like that, again. Perfect, so perfect, you on your knees for me, exactly where you should be.”

Okay, well, he sounded pretty distracted right now, even if he wasn't shutting up. Clint shifted forward on his knees and changed the angle his head was at so that he could see the jacket out of the corner of his eye. He reached for the pocket and managed to get the zip undone, hiding the sound by doing the thing with his tongue that always pulled a sound out of a guy, even the silent types.

“Daniel, yes, Daniel. I should keep you just here always, your mouth is—” Anton cut himself off and ran his thumb over Clint's cheekbone. Clint paused the movement of his hand as Anton focused down on him.

“Your mouth was made for my cock,” said Anton and wow, this was particularly creepy porn dialogue. Clint began to get the uncomfortable feeling that maybe this wasn't his greatest plan ever.

“So beautiful,” said Anton again, then Clint saw his eyes drift shut and yes, this was his chance. He pulled the wallet out and flipped it open, pulling back to tongue at the slit of Anton's cock so that he could see properly to grab the right card.

Keycard acquired. First step down.

The reader for it was strapped to the underside of his arm, so that all he needed to do was push up his sleeve and swipe it. Of course, he was using that arm to keep a grip on Anton's hip at the moment, so he was going to have to—

“Come on, take it all,” said Anton, and his grip on Clint's head turned into firm pressure, pushing him down on Anton's cock. All thoughts of the keycard vanished for the moment as he tried to adjust to way more cock in his mouth than he was comfortable with, swallowing around it to stop himself gagging. “Oh yes, like that,” said Anton. “Oh, you love this, don't you? Love being my cocksucker.”

And that was the point where, if this was just a casual hook-up, he'd back off and put some ground rules in place, but that wasn't really possible right now. Yeah, this was definitely not a good plan. Well, at least Clint would know not to try it again.

Anton started to thrust his hips towards Clint's mouth in short, jerky movements. Shit, he was getting close and Clint still had the keycard in his hand. There was no way he could manage swiping it right now though, not when most of his attention was on keeping himself from choking on Anton's cock, trying to keep at least some control over this.

“Daniel,” said Anton, in a low voice. “Daniel, yes. My Daniel.” He thrust again and came without any warning which was pretty fucking rude. Clint hadn't been intending to swallow, but he wasn't really getting a lot of choice. As soon as Anton's grip on his head had relaxed, he pulled away, trying not to cough. Ugh.

The keycard was still in his hand, Anton's wallet lying out and open. Clint leaned forward, resting his forehead on Anton's hip as if he needed the support and wasn't just trying to hide the mess he'd made of this whole thing. He fumbled at his sleeve, pulling it up as quickly as he could while hiding the movement with his body, swiped the damn card through the reader, which flicked on an encouraging green light for a moment, then pulled his sleeve back down and reached for the wallet.

“That was so good, Daniel,” said Anton. “Beautiful and talented, this really has turned into an excellent night for me.” He stroked a possessive hand over Clint's head that Clint allowed as he reached for the wallet to get the card back inside.

“What are you—” started Anton, then he let out a breathy laugh. “Are you touching yourself? Did sucking me off turn you on so much that you can't even wait for me to recover?”

Ah crap. Well, at least if Clint just got himself off on his own he could end this encounter and get the hell out of there. He got the card back in the wallet one-handed, opening his fly with the other and pulling out his cock.

“Maybe,” he said.

The main problem was that he just wasn't that turned on any more. Between Anton's over-bearing attitude and Clint's concentration on getting the keycard, his erection had all but faded away. He gripped himself hard and starting stroking, letting a few of his favourite fantasies run through his mind as he got the wallet shut and shoved back in the jacket pocket.

It didn't take much. It never really took much, and now Anton's hand on Clint’s head was more gentle than controlling, fingers brushing through his hair, Clint could cut out the bits of the blowjob that had been shit and just concentrate on the taste of come in his mouth and the memory of the weight of a cock in his mouth. He did really love sucking dick, he just preferred to do it on his own terms.

“Let me see,” said Anton, pulling on Clint's shoulder. “Don't hide yourself from me, beautiful.”

Clint let out a breathy moan to hide the sound as he zipped up the jacket pocket, and felt relief spread through him. Mission accomplished, now he just had to worry about extraction. He tipped his head back to look up at Anton, moving back from leaning against him.

“Show me,” said Anton, pushing at Clint's shoulder. “Come on, Daniel.”

Clint didn't have a lot of choice here. He needed to keep the guy distracted and thinking this was a mutual thing so that Clint could then get out and away.

He moved back, settling back on his ass and spreading his legs so that Anton could see his hand moving on his dick. “Like that?”

Anton crouched down but didn't move to touch him, apparently content with just watching, a fervent look in his eye. “Oh yes, that's it. Display yourself for me.”

Clint pasted on a grin and sped his hand up. Come on, he needed to come already so he could get the hell out of this situation and then never tell anyone about it ever.

“Undo your shirt,” said Anton. “I want to see all of you.”

Great, okay, fantastic. Clint started undoing buttons with one hand, letting his shirt fall open.

“Yes,” said Anton, and he reached out to push it off Clint's shoulders. It didn't fall far before getting caught on his arms, so at least there was no risk of the card reader being exposed. “There. Oh Daniel, if you could only see how you look. Beautiful.”

Clint felt very exposed like this, shirt and pants open and Anton's eyes staring at him, taking in every detail. It felt a bit too much like being back at the circus, before he'd got used to the weight of the audience's gaze.

“I wish I could see this all the time,” said Anton. “My own private show.”

Clint kept in a grimace and shut his eyes in the hope he'd be able to block him out long enough to come. He concentrated on the feel of his hand, on the way his thumb flicked over the head, and— Yeah, yeah, okay, that was it.

He came into his hand and waited a moment before opening his eyes. Anton was still staring at him, looking fascinated.

“Pass me some tissue?” Clint asked.

Anton turned to do so and escaping his gaze felt like a weight lifting off Clint's shoulders. Yeah, okay, mental note to never try this one again. SHIELD weren't paying him anywhere near enough for him to whore himself out, and he had a feeling that his handler would go nuts if he found out Clint had thought this was a good idea. He'd already sat through two lectures on unacceptable risk-taking, he wasn't really up for a third.

He cleaned himself up and did his clothes back up before he stood.

“That was excellent,” said Anton, taking hold of Clint's shoulders and leaning in to press a kiss to his lips that Clint allowed despite the unease it sent running through him. “Are you sure I can't tempt you to come back to mine? I want you naked in my bed, every inch of skin on display.”

“Sorry,” said Clint, not meaning it at all. “My sister, you know. And I'm leaving town tomorrow, gotta get back to work.” Thank god he'd left himself an out earlier.

Anton frowned with disappointment. “And if I offered you alternative employment?” he asked. “I would gladly pay to have you waiting in my bed for me every night.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Clint kept his disgust off his face through a great effort of willpower. He made himself let out a laugh and step back, out of Anton's grip. “Sure, that sounds like just the kind of job I'd get glowing reviews for.”

“I'm not joking,” said Anton. He picked up his jacket and put it on. “Daniel, I can afford to keep you, in exchange for unlimited access.”

Oh man, did this guy really not hear himself? Who the hell asked a guy they met at a bar to be their paid whore?

“Sorry, man,” said Clint, holding his hands up. “I actually kinda love the job I’ve got.”

Anton looked put out, but nodded. “If that should ever change,” he said, and pulled out a business card, “or if you are in town again and have a free night. Please, don't hesitate to call.”

“Sure,” said Clint, taking the card and tucking it away. “Next time I need to escape my sister, yeah?”

He opened the cubicle door before the whole thing could get any more freaky, and got the fuck out of there. Man, he was going to have to completely bullshit the mission report, because there was no way he was ever telling anyone about this.

****

_"Clint, who is this guy?"_ asked Natasha over the comms. _"How much of a problem do we have?"_

Right, because he could just give her a quick history of his interactions with Anton fucking Kulish over the comms with the guy listening in.

Clint pulled his arm back out of Anton's reach. "Right, okay, well, I'm not really feeling that right now, but thanks for the offer."

Anton let out a low laugh. "I think we both know that's not true. You were eager enough the other times, after all. Is it that you're hoping for some financial incentive? You should know that my offer still stands. I would pay twice, three times over what anyone else would to have you naked in my bed. "

_"Seriously, Clint?"_ asked Natasha. Clint glanced over Anton's shoulder at where she was paused in the kitchen door, giving him a concerned look, but he couldn't risk any communication.

"Or," asked Anton in a low voice, swaying in to speak closer to Clint's ear, "are you perhaps here on other business?"

Oh crap, what the hell did this guy know? Or guess? Clint gave him his best look of blank incomprehension. "Not sure what you mean," he said, trying to move away and finding a wall behind him. Crap, crap, crap, this was going to screw up the mission unless he could shake the guy.

"I'm not a fool," said Anton. "Our meeting in Odessa coincided with a rather audacious theft from an organisation I've done some work with, on a night you made certain promises that you didn't follow through on. What could have been more important to you than a night in my bed, other than a job you couldn't put off?"

Oh jeez, was this guy really this vain? What the hell had Clint done to make him this certain that Clint was just dying to fuck him?

Well, okay, he could think of a couple of things, but come on, they’d been _years_ apart from each other, and were both ancient history now. And Clint wasn't that good an actor, was he?

_"Bucky, I need you to get this guy off Clint's back,"_ said Natasha. _"There's a suit for you in the trunk, make yourself look like an international criminal."_

_"I'm already an international criminal,"_ muttered Bucky, but Clint could hear him starting to move. _"What's the plan?"_

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss my business affairs," said Clint, trying to stall until Bucky could get inside.

"That's fine, I'm not particularly interested in discussing business with you," said Anton. "Not when we could be discussing _pleasure_."

_"Well, this asshole clearly thinks Clint is for sale, so let's play to that. Clint, tell this guy you're with someone. Bucky, you're going to be his international arms dealer sugar daddy."_

Aw man, why was Clint always the hooker?

He took a careful step to one side, ducking out of Anton's grip. "Sorry, man, I'm gonna end up in trouble if you carry on like that. My guy's kinda the jealous type."

_"I'm not the greatest actor,"_ said Bucky.

_"Oh, I'm sure you can manage possessive lover,"_ said Natasha. _"Just do a few murder glares and leave the rest to Clint."_

"Ah," said Anton, softly. "You _are_ here with someone." He glanced around the room, then back to Clint. "I can offer you so much more than whatever he gives you. I've gone up in the world since we last spoke, I'm not here as someone else's security. I'm here to bid in my own right. I could keep you in such luxury, Daniel, you would be pampered like no one ever has been."

"I kinda like the luxury I'm in," said Clint, truthfully. After all, it was hard to do better than living in Avengers Tower with an AI butler and Tony Stark making weaponry and hearing aids and other awesome tech for him. Plus, Sam made really epic pancakes.

"Anything you wanted," said Anton, and there was a thread of fervent desperation that made Clint get a sick feeling in his stomach. "Even if it's just for that one night we never managed together in Odessa."

Christ, what the hell was up with this guy? Because, okay, Clint was reasonably good-looking and he had great biceps, but he wasn't anywhere near hot enough for the level of creepiness this guy was giving him. If he was okay with paying for sex, surely he could find any number of guys willing to give him a lot more than a quick blowjob in the bathroom of a bar nearly a decade ago?

As for what had happened in Odessa, if Clint had ever stopped to think about it at all, he'd have assumed Anton would be pissed about that. After all, he did kinda screw the guy over.

****

"I'm sorry, sir, there's no record of a reservation under that name," said the concierge with a bright smile that didn't touch her eyes.

Clint rubbed at his face. "Aw, come on, they told me it was all booked," he said. "Michael Gallant, G-A-L-L-A-N-T, can you check again?"

Her smile didn't dim, but her eyes hardened. "I've checked twice already, sir, I'm afraid there's nothing."

Clint glanced over his shoulder out of the wide window at the front of the hotel, at the building opposite where his target was due to be in eight hours. "Any rooms available without a booking?" he asked, without much hope. "Even just a cupboard or something, as long as it's got a window?"

"No, sir," she said, firmly. "I'm afraid we're fully booked."

Fucking fantastic. Clint was beginning to think this mission was cursed. First his flight was delayed, then the taxi insisted on taking him twice around the wrong part of town and pretended not to understand English when Clint complained about the fare, and now the hotel had lost his booking.

Before he'd left SHIELD headquarters, Coulson had heavily hinted to him that he was being considered for Level 6 status and this mission would be evaluated carefully. Level 6 was when you were finally allowed to use your own equipment and, dammit, Clint missed his bow. SHIELD's weaponry was all very nice, but nothing came close to being able to just let an arrow go from his string and knowing it was going to hit exactly where he wanted it.

If he had a bow, he could try his luck at one of the neighbouring buildings, but he only had a rifle. Bullets didn't curve around in the wind the same way that arrows did.

"Maybe it's under Mike Gallant," he tried.

Her smile had completely vanished now. "There's nothing under your surname at all, sir."

"Mike," said a voice behind him, and Clint turned to see a vaguely familiar man looking at him. "That's new. It was Daniel before."

Was it? Clint racked his memory and came up with nothing.

The man gave him a lazy smile and held out his hand. "Anton. We had an evening together at Ricardo's in Washington DC that's rather stuck with me."

A hazy image of sucking the guy's cock came through to Clint. God, that had been a years ago now. And, oh yeah, this was the guy who'd offered to employ him as his personal whore. That should probably have left a deeper impression than it apparently had.

"Okay, you got me," Clint said. "I don't always use my real name when I'm talking to strangers in bars."

"I'd hardly say we’re strangers any more," said Anton. "How about a drink in the bar here to seal that?"

Clint shook his head. "Sorry, I've got to try and find another place to stay tonight now." Maybe he could get up on the roof and make a nest up there. It would be a long, cold night, but at least he'd get the job done.

A wide smile spread over Anton's face. "Well, I have a room here," he said. "One with a nice, big window, and an even bigger bed."

Clint hesitated. Oh man, that would be perfect, if only it didn't come with this guy.

Anton saw his hesitation and leapt on it. "Ah, I knew that would tempt you. I've thought of you often since we met, you know. I kept hoping you might contact me."

There was no way Clint wanted to sleep with this guy, but that didn't mean this still wasn't the best option. He gave him a smile. "I did think about it a few times," he lied. The guy's card had gone straight in the trash. "Never seemed to be the right time, though. I guess tonight is the right time."

Anton's smile grew and he put an arm around Clint's shoulders, ushering him towards the bar. "I think I can promise you it will be the _perfect_ time."

Clint kept his smile on and took the drinks Anton bought him, laughed at his jokes and flirted right back as he got increasingly handsy.

He didn't drink most of the drinks, he just made it look like he had. When they finally got to the stage of heading up to Anton's room, he took care to sway slightly.

Anton pushed him up against the wall outside his room and kissed him, which Clint allowed while clinging on to his waist. "Come on," he slurred, turning towards the door, and Anton stepped away to pull out his key.

The moment they were inside, Clint pulled away to head for the bathroom. "Need water, or this is going to be a very short night."

"We can't have that," said Anton. "I want this night to last forever."

Clint sent a smirk over his shoulder at him. "I can promise I'll do my very best to make sure of that."

He poured out two glasses of water in the bathroom, then pulled a tiny vial out of his pocket and emptied it into one of them.

When he came back out, Anton had already stripped off his shirt. Clint grinned at him and held out the drugged water. "Want to make sure we both have lots of stamina."

"Oh yes," said Anton. He took the water and threw it back, then reached out for Clint, who went as willingly as he could.

They made out for a while, then Clint walked Anton back to the bed and got him sitting down. Anton only allowed Clint to remain standing for a second or two before he pulled him down next to him.

“I can’t get over your shoulders,” said Anton, running a hand over Clint’s shirt. “Let me see them properly. I want to run my fingers over every inch of your skin.”

Clint’s flesh actually crawled at the idea, but he gave Anton a smirk and shifted back to start undoing his shirt, as slowly as possible, trying to make it look like he was putting on a show and not trying to stretch out the amount of time he wasn’t in actual contact with Anton as long as possible.

He was still two buttons from the bottom when Anton blinked, swayed, started to say something, then collapsed backwards.

Clint let out a long sigh of relief. Christ, he'd thought the guy would never pass out. He glanced at the clock. Still two hours to go before he needed to take his shot. Easy.

He got the rifle out of his bag and assembled it, setting himself up in the window with a perfect view into the room he needed. Everything after that went like clockwork. The target came into the room with two henchmen holding a woman captive between them and sat down at his desk. Clint took three quick shots, and the woman was the only one left alive. She immediately went over to the desk and rifled through one of the drawers, then climbed up into the air-conditioning vents and disappeared.

Air vents. Clint liked her style. He packed away the rifle again then took a few minutes to wipe down everything in the room that he'd touched. Well, everything except for Anton. Clint moved him so he was properly in the bed, dropped the covers over him, and left him to sleep it off, hoping like hell he never saw the bastard again.

****

Every time Bucky thought he had a handle on things, this damned mission just kept getting more difficult.

Trying to sleep in a hotel room with Clint only a few feet away, sprawled out over the mattress in nothing but underwear and a sheet had proven impossible. It had only gotten worse as the sun came up, warming the air until Clint kicked aside the sheet, leaving every inch of his back, arms and legs on display. Bucky had had to grip at his own mattress to stop himself reaching out to touch.

When it became clear that that wasn't going to last very long as a preventative measure, he forced himself to go shower, in the hope that out of sight was out of mind, but it didn't quite work like that. Every inch of Clint's muscular back and shoulders stood out in his mind as he stepped under the water, as did the thought of exactly what Bucky would do to them if he were allowed to touch.

He could so easily imagine just settling down on the bed next to Clint, rubbing his hands down over his shoulders to his waist, waking him up with a mouth to the base of his spine, just where his waistband had ridden down. He'd kiss his way back up Clint's back to his neck, then let him turn over so that Bucky could kiss him properly, pulling Clint close so that he could feel his sleep-warmed skin pressed against him.

Arousal started sending shivers over his skin so he gave up on pretending he wasn't going to cross a line and wrapped a hand around his hardening cock, ducking his head and then having to flick wet hair out of his eyes.

Oh yeah, that felt good. He didn't do this often, not like he had back before Hydra, when he'd been young and cocky in every sense of the word, getting horny at the drop of a hat and rubbing one out whenever he could.

When he'd been with Hydra, he hadn't even thought about it once. Weapons didn't get horny; the Asset had no need of an orgasm.

Since being back, his libido had started picking back up, but it was slow going. For a while he'd thought he would never get it back, but then, well. Then he watched Clint showing off at the range on a day hot enough for him to be shirtless, and it had been all Bucky could do to get back to his room and shut the door before he'd had his hand wrapped around his cock. Rubbing one out in the shower while thinking about Clint was all too familiar these days.

He braced a hand against the wall and let the water spill over his head, running down his back as he slid his hand over his cock and let his fantasy spin out. Clint would wake up slowly, Bucky had seen him staring blearily at the coffee pot in the mornings enough to know that. Bucky would kiss him until he was awake, until he wrapped his arms around Bucky and held on, pushing his hips up so that his hard cock rubbed against Bucky's, arousal making his eyes go dark and his breathing get heavy.

Bucky would be naked, nothing but Clint's boxers between them so that he could feel as much of Clint's skin as he could, pressed against him and—

Bucky came with a choked noise. There was a heartbeat or two in which he felt nothing but blank pleasure, and then the guilt rolled in. He really shouldn't be fantasising about a teammate, especially not one who was sleeping next door, completely oblivious to the way Bucky had been thinking about him.

Christ, he needed to get this together.

He finished the shower and got dressed, but then had to go back out into the room, back to where Clint was still sprawled out fast asleep. He sat down on the edge of his bed and tried to tell himself he was just going to pause for a moment before heading out to the lounge.

It hadn't quite worked out like that. He'd lost more time than he wanted to admit to watching Clint's relaxed sprawl and tracing over the shape of his body with his eyes as his mind quietened down into what almost felt like a trance.

And now, just hours later, he was being asked to pretend to be Clint's lover. How the hell was he meant to keep his crush a secret with this kind of thing going on?

_"Irena, your break isn't for another half hour. Get back out there,"_ someone hissed at Natasha loud enough to be heard over the comms.

Bucky had already changed his chauffeur suit for a tuxedo and was in the process of tying his hair back so that he'd look like he'd made more of an effort than just throwing some clothes on in the back of a car.

_"Of course, sorry,"_ said Natasha, in Irena's accent.

Right, so he'd be doing this without even a little voice in his ear giving him advice. That was fine. He could pretend to be a black market weapons dealer who was paying Clint to sleep with him, no problem. Couldn't be worse than that time during the war when Steve decided they were all going to go undercover as women.

Over the comms, he could hear the creepy bastard still talking to Clint, going on about how much better off Clint would be with him. The predatory tone in his voice was setting Bucky's teeth on edge.

Bucky gave his weapons a final check to make sure they were all in place, then headed for the entrance. Natasha had tucked a spare invite in the pocket of the suit, so he had no problems getting in.

The moment he set eyes on Clint, he had to grit his teeth. He was backed up against a wall with the asshole keeping him in place with one hand on his shoulder, bending close to his face as he spoke. Bucky could see Clint trying to fend him off without causing a scene, but the guy was fixed in place.

Natasha had been right when she'd said Bucky would find possessive lover an easy part to play. He strode over with his hands clenched into fists. Clint caught his eye over the fucker's shoulder and a moment of sheer relief washed over his face before it was pushed aside by a wide grin. If only that was actually how he reacted to Bucky’s presence, and not just part of this stupid act.

"Hey, baby," he said, and the creep moved back to see what Clint was looking at.

Bucky shouldered into the space he left and draped an arm around Clint’s shoulders. How many liberties could he get away with taking in the name of pretence? As many as possible, surely? "Not sure why you're hiding over here," he said, then took his life in his hands and dropped a kiss onto Clint's cheek.

Rather than tense up or betray any other sign of discomfort, Clint actually relaxed back into Bucky's embrace, leaning against his side. A wave of emotion passed through Bucky that he did his best to ride out without letting a hint of it show on his face.

"Sorry, I ran into a—Well, I was going to say an old acquaintance, but we've only met twice, so that’s kinda pushing it."

Bucky glanced over at the bastard and gave him a distant nod. "Hey."

Anton tore his eyes away from Clint for a moment to give him an amused smile. "So you're the reason he has turned down my very generous offer." He looked back at Clint. "I think you would do so much better with me."

Right, there was no way an international criminal would let him get away with that, and Bucky certainly wasn't going to. He gave the guy his best glare, which was enough to wipe the smile off his face. "You even think about laying one finger on him and I'll cut them all off."

Being the Winter Soldier had given him some solid groundwork in how to make a threat and mean it. Bucky knew he’d nailed this one when the fucker’s jaw tightened and his shoulders tensed as he swayed back, away from Bucky’s stare.

He tried to play it off, though. If he hung out with the kinds of guys that were at this auction, he was probably used to graphic threats, and the kind of guy who was prepared to follow through on them.

"I see," he said, then looked back at Clint, trying out an amused smile that only looked a little shaky around the edges. "He seems a little violent."

Clint shrugged. "Maybe I like them violent."

"And maybe your opinion is unnecessary," added Bucky, deciding enough was enough. "C'mon, doll, I need a drink." He pulled Clint away without waiting for a response, keeping a tight grip on him all the way to the bar.

"And you said you were bad at acting," said Clint, once they were out of earshot. "I'm definitely getting the possessive loud-and-clear. Good going."

It's not acting when you’re just doing what you'd do anyway, given half a chance.

“I'm not gonna lie though, 'doll' was maybe a bit much,” carried on Clint. “You need to work on your pet names.”

“Shut up, snugglebunny,” said Bucky.

Clint snorted. “Okay, yeah, let's stick with doll.” He glanced over his shoulder. "He's still watching. You'll have to get us drinks."

Bucky suppressed a sigh. "Who the hell is this guy?"

Clint shrugged. "Anton Kulish. He was small-time when I first met him, running security, but it looks like he's gone up in the world since then."

Bucky got two glasses of whiskey from the bar and handed one to Clint, who gave him a wide smile. "Thanks, lover," he said, patting Bucky's hip.

Bucky could feel the expression on his face slipping but he clung on to it with every scrap of willpower he had. He had to look like this was totally normal and expected, and not at all as if he was going to be hoarding every second for later. He took a sip, hoping to cover any reaction that might have slipped through his control.

"Doesn't explain why he was all over you," he said.

Clint made a face. "Okay, so, I was young and stupid, and it was one of my first missions for SHIELD. And, uh, I blew him in a bathroom to get access to his keycard."

Bucky couldn't keep his reaction to that off his face. "You did what?! I thought SHIELD were meant to be the good guys, not whoring their agents out."

Clint made a face, then darted in and pressed a kiss to Bucky's lips. Bucky froze up with a completely different kind of shock. Clint's arm wound around his waist and he stayed close after he'd kissed Bucky.

"We need to put on a show for this guy, you can't look at me like you want to strangle me," said Clint, and he was so close to Bucky that he could feel his breath on his cheek.

"Right," he managed, then put his own arm around Clint's shoulders in response. "Sure, yeah. I got this."

"Remember," said Clint. "Possessive lover. If he senses any cracks, he's gonna come after me again."

Bucky took a breath and made an effort to look down at Clint with a small smile. _You love this man,_ he thought to himself and felt his face change, moving into an expression he hadn't felt in decades.

Clint gave him a grin back and, god, Bucky really did love this man. Hell, he hoped he never found out.

"Much better," said Clint, moving out of Bucky's arms. "Now, just keep looking like that and pretend I'm talking about having epic amounts of sex or something."

That prompted a number of interesting mental images. Bucky let his smile spread into a smirk. "Okay, fine. Now tell me exactly why you were being pimped out."

"I wasn't," said Clint, stroking his hand over Bucky's side. "It was stupid, but it was my own decision to get the keycard like that. I was probably meant to be just pickpocketing the guy, but— Well. He was hot and I had a stupid moment, okay?"

“You think he's hot?” asked Bucky, and his eyes flashed over to Anton, trying to work that out.

Clint shrugged. “Sure. I mean, he was hotter back then, when he was younger and had long hair; I've kinda got a thing for dudes with long hair—Oh. Oh, wait, is this a repressed 1940s reaction to unexpected bisexuality in a team-mate? Cuz I'm not really in the mood to try and be understanding right now.”

Clint had a thing for guys with long hair? Huh. Bucky was suddenly overwhelmingly glad that he hadn't cut his hair back when he'd first been trying to eradicate everything Hydra had done to him.

He gave a casual shrug, as if this wasn't the most interesting conversation he'd had in days. “Be kinda hypocritical of me,” he said. “You're not the only bi guy on the team, you know.”

“Well no,” said Clint. “Although I think Tony goes with pan—” He paused as if he'd just worked out what Bucky had been saying. “Wait, you too?”

Bucky just shrugged.

Clint let out a small laugh and shook his head. “Nat, you hear that? You straight guys are definitely the minority, you owe me twenty bucks.”

_"I never agreed to that bet,"_ said Natasha over the comms. Bucky had all but forgotten she was listening in on them. Where the hell had his brain gone? He couldn't let himself get distracted by Clint in the middle of a mission. _“Focus for a moment, will you? How did one really stupid blowjob turn into this mess?”_

"Mostly cuz it turns out this guy is nuts," said Clint, taking Bucky's hand and sliding his fingers between his. Bucky had to suppress a shiver at the touch, wishing he wasn't wearing gloves so he could actually feel Clint's skin against his. "He turned up again in Odessa when I was being the sniper for one of Maria's missions and, well, it made sense to go along with him so I could get access to his hotel room—"

"You went to a hotel room with him," said Bucky. He tightened his hand around Clint's. "Are you insane?"

Clint shrugged. "Some might say so. It was cool, I drugged him so he just slept the night away while I borrowed his window. I was long gone by the time he woke up."

_"Clearly he didn't take a hint,"_ said Natasha. _"By the way, while you two have been messing around, I've done both Clint's job and my own. You need to meet me out back as soon as you can get away."_

Bucky flicked his eyes over to where Anton was still watching them, his eyes resting heavily on Clint with an expression that made Bucky want to step in between them just to ward it off.

"Not sure this guy is going to give us the chance."

Natasha let out a sigh. _"We've already had to scrap most of the plan, I'm not doing the whole mission on my own."_

"It's cool," said Clint. "I've got an idea."

He moved in close to Bucky again, running his hand down over his ass. Bucky wasn't sure he could take much more of this without doing something really ill-advised. "This guy knows next to nothing about me, right? What he _does_ know though, is that sometimes I have sex with guys in the bathroom. So—"

"You want to pretend we're sneaking off to have sex in the bathroom of one of the best hotels in Monaco during a drinks reception for international black market arms dealers?" said Bucky.

"Yup," said Clint. "Come on, get all possessive and handsy, then drag me off."

Bucky took a deep breath. Right, well, if that was what he had to do for the greater good, then so be it.

He pulled Clint fully into his arms as if he had every right, taking the chance to notice the feel of his muscles as he ran his hands up his back and shoulders, beautifully shaped by the hours he spent practising with his bow.

Bucky dipped his head to put his mouth close to Clint's ear. "Is this handsy enough?"

"Uh, yeah," said Clint. He sounded a bit unsteady and Bucky wondered if he was pushing this too far. Well, Clint had asked for it.

Bucky glanced around and spotted the sign for the bathrooms, then looped an arm around Clint's waist to pull him along as he headed for it.

He forced himself to let go the moment they were in the corridor outside the ballroom. It had to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Clint didn't immediately step back, though. He grinned at him and gently patted Bucky's cheek. “Thanks, doll. You were an excellent possessive lover. If I ever need one again, you can definitely step up.”

Bucky could only blink at him. Was Clint still flirting with him, even though no one was watching any more?

Before he could get his head around that idea, Clint had moved away and his expression had turned professional.

"Okay, let's do this."

Natasha appeared from around a corner. "This way," she said. "And there's a new plan. We won't be getting a distraction, so we're just going to do a smash and grab. We move fast, take out anyone who gets in the way, then get out."

Bucky nodded. That sounded like his kind of plan.

There were two guards outside the room they were keeping the goods in, which wouldn't have been a problem except they both had comm units in their ears. They'd have to take them out without giving them time to call for backup, and because Bucky was with the good guys now, they couldn't just shoot them.

Natasha glanced around the corner, then gave a nod. "Clint, like in Athens."

Clint nodded. "Right."

Bucky wondered how long he'd have to hang around with them in order to have any clue what they were going to do next.

Natasha pulled the neck of her dress down to reveal more cleavage than Bucky was used to seeing from her, then stepped out, stumbling as if drunk.

"Oh, please help, I think I—" she started, then tripped and fell towards them. One of them stepped forward as if to help her, but she righted herself at the last moment.

Clint followed after her, striding around the corner with his fists clenched. “Irena, you drunken slut!” he spat at her. “You promised me a good time!”

Natasha took one look at him and made a terrified noise, flinging herself at one of the guards. “Oh, stop him!” He grabbed at her, more in self-defence than anything else, and she collapsed most of her weight into his arms.

The other guard stepped into Clint's path. “Sir, please—” He didn't get any further. Clint moved almost unbelievably fast, jabbing a tiny dart into his neck that made his eyes roll back. He choked and glared accusingly at Clint for a split second before he collapsed to the ground.

Bucky tore his eyes away from Clint to see that Natasha's guy was also out for the count. Clint sent her a cheerful grin. “I think my 'belligerent attempted rapist' is getting better.” He bent over and rifled through the guard's pockets.

She snorted. “You still need to bring more violent lust to it.”

“Critic,” said Clint, straightening, and flicking the keycard he'd retrieved at her with two fingers. It looked like casual throw but it landed directly between her breasts, disappearing down her cleavage.

“You're such a child,” she muttered, fishing it out and readjusting her dress to give full coverage.

Clint's casual confidence that he'd always hit exactly what he was aiming at was sexy as hell. Bucky had to take a deep breath to push the arousal aside. Not exactly professional to be getting steamed up right now.

Natasha had pulled out the copy she'd got of the prints they needed to open the door. She crouched over the lock and fiddled with it for a moment.

Clint nudged Bucky with his elbow. “You thought my acting was okay, right?”

Bucky shrugged. “You had them convinced.”

“They were idiots and their opinion doesn't count,” called Natasha. “Come and insert this at the same time as me.”

She held one of the two keycards they now had out to Clint, who stepped over the unconscious body on the floor and took it from her.

Natasha and Clint swiped their cards at the same time, there was a click and the door opened.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder as they slipped inside the room, but there was no sign of anyone other than the two bodies on the floor.

The room was already set up for the auction, with the lots set out along one wall. The sonic taser was in a locked glass case that Natasha crouched to study. Bucky glanced over at the other lots in case there was anything else worth taking, but it was all pretty generic.

“Ooh, nice air vents,” said Clint, glancing up. “Nat, can we—”

“No,” she said, shortly. 

Clint sighed. “Spoilsport,” he muttered. He glanced over at Bucky. “Vents are the best. You're with me on that, right? Feels like the kinda thing you should know about a guy before you go on secret ops with him, maybe we should have had a debrief on that kind of thing before we started.”

“I prefer doors,” said Bucky. “Even if I have to smash through them.”

Clint contemplated that. “Yeah, okay, you do look pretty impressive when you're doing the massive property destruction thing, I guess I can go with that. Especially if you add in the purposeful stride of death.”

Oh man, he _was_ flirting with Bucky. Wasn't he? Was this really a thing or was he just trying to mess with him? Because if it was the latter, it was totally working.

Though, would anyone actually pull such terrible lines if they were flirting for real? It seemed pretty unlikely. Clint had to have better game than that when he meant it. Right?

"The case is alarmed,” said Natasha, “but I should be able to—"

The lights went out. Bucky froze in place. "Is this part of the plan?"

"No," said Natasha.

The door burst open with a splintering sound and there was the sound of several people running in. The lights in the corridor were off as well, so there was nothing to see expect the faintest hint of moving shadows.

"Oh shit," Bucky heard Clint say.

"Take them all out!" shouted a voice, and a moment later there was the sound of someone getting hit. It sounded worryingly like Clint.

Bucky might not be able to see anything, but he could still fight. He whirled around and smacked at the sound of someone moving to his left, catching him a solid blow to the side of the head. His hit dislodged something on the man's head that it took Bucky a moment to realise were night-vision goggles.

There was a rush of steps from his right and he ducked, then hit out at the sound but didn't connect. Behind him, someone grabbed at his arm but apparently hadn't counted on it being made out of metal. Bucky pulled it forward, flicking him through the air, then pulled out one of his knives and slashed forward, catching a glancing blow on someone else.

_"Pull out,"_ said Natasha's voice over the comms. _"We're not equipped for this. Get out any way you can and rendezvous by the car."_

_"Roger that,"_ said Clint, and Bucky heard him somewhere over to his left as well as on the comms. There was a crash and some swearing, then Bucky was distracted by someone throwing a kick at his stomach. He folded into it then caught at their ankle, yanking them off-balance and following up with a firm stab of his knife into their torso.

His eyes had grown accustomed enough to the dark for him to see the faint shape of the door in front of him.

"Are you gonna get out okay, Hawkeye?" he asked over the comms, ducking as two faint shadows came for him.

_"No problem,"_ said Clint. He wasn't within earshot any more so Bucky took his chance, crashing through the assailants to the door and then sprinting down the corridor.

All the power was out but he remembered the way back to the front entrance well enough to get out, dodging around confused guests.

Natasha was already waiting by the car. There was a bruise forming on her arm but she looked essentially unharmed.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky asked her.

She pressed her lips together. "Seems we weren't the only ones who decided theft was a better option than bidding."

_"They're carrying all the lots out to the loading bay at the back,"_ said Clint, in a hushed voice over the comms. _"It's all being put in a van."_

"You're meant to be getting back here," Natasha reminded him.

_"I'm working on it,"_ said Clint, and there was a faint grunt of exertion. _"Didn't realise my escape route was going to go right by them."_

"Do you need us to come retrieve you?" asked Bucky.

_“Nah, it's fine, just— Oh."_ Clint fell worryingly silent.

Bucky clenched his fists and wondered how quickly he could get around the hotel if he sprinted.

There was a thump from the comms, then a crash, then the sound of panicked shouting and a handful of gunshots. Bucky took off without even glancing at Natasha, but he could tell that she was right behind him.

A voice came through from Clint's comms that made Bucky's heart seize in his chest. _"Daniel. Aren't you just full of surprises?"_

_"Oh, hey Anton,"_ said Clint. _"Fancy seeing you—"_

He was cut off mid-sentence. Bucky sped up, feet thumping against the ground as he circled around the building, through the gardens and past a swimming pool, leaping over knee-high hedges.

_"Take him,"_ said Anton's voice, close enough to Clint's comms to come through loud and clear. There was a couple of thumps, then the sound of a van door slamming.

There was no sound at all from Clint.

Bucky ploughed around the last corner just in time to see the van pulling out of the drive onto the highway, already too far away for him to catch.


	3. Chapter 3

While his workshop was being rebuilt, Tony had had his most important equipment moved into another room so that he'd still be able to work. The minute it was all in place, he was itching to get down there; he'd wasted quite enough time with hospitals and doctors and all that bullshit. What he hadn't factored in was that Steve would insist on only letting him in there if he had someone with him.

"Oh, come on, I've been working on my shit alone since I was 5," he said. "I absolutely promise not blow anything up. Uh, anything else."

Steve remained resolute. "I know you, Tony. You'll use your cast to prop something up, or decide to balance on it for an hour while you weld something. Until you're healed, you're going to have to have someone around who'll point out you're being an idiot."

Tony let out a long breath. "Fine," he said. "I hope you like spending ten hours a day watching me design shit."

Steve just smiled. "I'll bring my sketchbook."

Which was how Tony ended up spending pretty much all day working on the plans for the new workshop—which was going to be incredible, he totally should have blown it up earlier so he could rebuild—with Steve curled up on a sofa in the corner quietly drawing.

He hadn't realised how nice it would be to have Steve there. Even if they weren't talking, there was something about the atmosphere of a room that had Steve in it that was so much better than one that Tony was alone in.

Of course, it did mean he had to put up with listening to Steve call Bucky first thing in the morning, apparently just to check up on him, and then again just before he made Tony stop for lunch, when Bucky was getting ready to go off on the heist with Clint and Natasha.

"You've got everything you need?" asked Steve. "Yeah, yeah, I know that, punk, just checking." He laughed and his face lit up, eyes crinkling. Tony had to force himself to look away. He'd moved on to fixing the damage to Dummy, but he knew every weld and bolt too well to be able to properly block out everything else. Steve's conversation came through loud and clear.

"Okay, well, listen to Natasha, ignore everything Clint says, and try not to get hurt," said Steve. "Call me when you're all done."

He hung up and gave Tony a smile that Tony couldn't help returning as his heart gave a little kick he did his best to ignore.

"He's not saying it, but I think he's enjoying being part of a team," said Steve.

Tony turned his attention back to Dummy's wheels. "I'd say I understand that, but we're talking about a team that includes Clint, so I mainly just question his judgement." Dummy gave his wheels a spin and Tony tapped at his casing. "Hey, stop that, I'm trying to work here."

"Clint's not that bad," said Steve.

Tony snorted. "He jumps off shit, he blows shit up, he makes bad jokes over the comms—"

"I'm sorry," said Steve, "who blows stuff up and makes bad jokes?"

Tony pointed his screwdriver in Steve's direction. "Wash your mouth out; my jokes are never bad."

Steve just snorted, which was hurtful. "Come on, finish up so we can go grab some food."

Tony scowled at him. "I'm fine here, you go get food if you're hungry."

"Nope," said Steve, standing up. "We're getting lunch together. You need food to help you heal."

He was giving Tony his 'Captain America is resolved so you better just go along with it' expression, which was why Tony sighed and set his screwdriver down. It totally wasn't because the idea of a lunch date with Steve made his little heart pitter-patter with joy, no way.

Not that it was a date, of course. Not when Steve was likely to spend the whole time worrying about Bucky and pretending not to pine. Tony gave it two hours before Steve started getting jittery that Bucky hadn't called back to report mission success. Something to look forward to.

 

****

It was just under two hours later when the phone rang again, but it wasn't for Steve.

 _"Tony, I need you to enable the tracker in Clint's aids,"_ said Natasha without bothering with a greeting.

Tony immediately reached for a tablet and pulled up the tracking program, typing in his passcode. "How've you lost him?"

Steve's head came up from his sketchbook with a sudden jerk and he stared at Tony, who mouthed _Clint_ at him. The fear in his eyes dimmed only slightly.

 _"He let himself get kidnapped,"_ said Natasha, grimly.

Ah, crap. "Hang on, putting you on speaker so Cap can hear," said Tony. "JARVIS, pipe this call over the speakers, would you? Now, who the hell would want to kidnap Hawkeye?"

 _"He's a Ukrainian gangster,"_ said Natasha. _"Anton Kulish. Used to be pretty small time, but given that he had an organised gang of men and got to the auction items before we could, not to mention that they got hold of Clint, I think he's gone up in the world."_

"Tracker's online," reported Tony. “Sending data to your phone.”

"Is Bucky there?" Steve asked, predictably.

 _"He's driving,"_ said Natasha. _"We ran into a bit of trouble, in that the Beletski brothers think we're the ones who stole their stuff."_

There was a squeal of wheels and what sounded like gunshots.

"Are you in a car chase?" asked Tony. "Wait, are you in a car chase through Monaco? Oh man, JARVIS, any footage?"

"One moment, sir," said JARVIS.

 _"Shit,"_ said Natasha. _"Bucky, head towards the harbour."_

 _"Which one?"_ Tony heard Barnes's voice say from a distance, then abruptly jump closer as Natasha put her phone on speaker as well. _"Half this place is a harbour."_

 _"Go left,"_ said Natasha. _"Now!"_

There was another squeal of brakes, just as JARVIS found a shaky video taken from a news helicopter and beamed it against the wall. A purple car Tony recognised as the one he'd got for them because he knew Clint would get a kick out of it was hurtling down the closest thing Monaco had to a highway with two black cars filled with men on its tail, a couple of them leaning out of the windows and firing at them.

Bucky pulled the car left in a sudden turn that made the wheels skid, then Tony caught the flash of bright hair as Natasha leaned out of the window and returned fire.

“Holy hell, Widow, what the hell did you do to your hair?”

 _”It's a disguise,”_ she gritted out.

One of the black cars spun off the road into an enormous ornamental palm tree, although he couldn't tell if she'd hit the driver or a tire.

He glanced down at the tracking info on screen and winced. No wonder Natasha had sworn. Clint's tracker was showing up right in the middle of the marina, which meant they were on a boat.

The second black car was clearly being driven by someone with a lot more skill and tenacity than the first. It stayed glued to the back of the purple car despite Bucky's best attempts to get away down side streets and even across hotel grounds, dodging more palm trees.

 _"Just head straight for Port Hercule,"_ said Natasha. _"Take the tunnel."_

 _"If you take the wheel I could get out, get the drop on them,"_ said Bucky.

 _"There's no time for that,"_ said Natasha. _"We have to get to Clint."_

The car spun around a roundabout, leaving skid marks, and for a moment the helicopter lost the shot on it. Steve was sitting forward, his knuckles clenched around his sketchbook.

"It's annoying just watching, isn't it?" Tony said to him.

Steve nodded without taking his eyes off the screen as the car came back into view, heading straight for the entrance to the tunnel that ran beneath the famous hotels of Monte Carlo. The vehicle the thugs were in followed a moment later, and they both disappeared from the video.

Over Natasha's phone, Tony could hear gunshots and then a loud sound of shattering glass. Steve twitched and knotted his fingers together but didn't say anything. He was probably just as wary of distracting Natasha and Bucky at a crucial moment as Tony was.

Tony glanced back at the screen that was tracking Clint and swore.

"Clint's heading out to sea."

 _"No,"_ Bucky growled, then there was the sound of a swerve, Natasha saying something in Russian that Tony strongly suspected was swear words, and an almighty crash of metal and concrete.

Steve jolted. "Bucky?"

 _"We're fine,"_ said Natasha. _"That was the bad guys. They hit a wall. Steve, I think you should know that your friend drives like a lunatic."_

"What were you expecting?" asked Tony. "He was taught by Hydra."

 _"Actually, I was taught by Steve,"_ said Bucky. " _In a stolen German Kübelwagen."_

That explained so much. Steve had two ways of driving: elderly driving instructor and drive-it-like-you-stole-it. Clearly, Bucky had picked up on the second version.

The little red dot marking Clint's tracker was crossing out of the harbour mouth. Tony sighed. “JARVIS, get me a list of the owners of every boat in that harbour, would you?”

“Processing, sir.”

The purple car emerged from the tunnel next to the marina and the helicopter zeroed in on it again. At some point in the tunnel, the back window had been destroyed and several large dents had appeared. Tony mentally added it to his list of Awesome Vehicles Trashed For The Greater Good.

Tony could see police cars lining up ahead of them, clearly ready to intercept Natasha and Bucky. Right, okay, damage control needed for that.

“Natasha, make nice with the police for a bit,” he said. “I'm going to get them to back off but it may take a few minutes.”

 _“Pull over,”_ Natasha said to Bucky, who made another irritated noise. Tony wondered if he realised how much of his communication might as well be coming from a grumpy bulldog.

He hung up on her. “JARVIS, put in a call to the Monaco chief of police. What was his name? Guillaume something?”

“Guillaume Lemaire,” said JARVIS. “Calling him now.”

Tony glanced at Steve. “Call your bro. Make sure he doesn't do anything that will piss the cops off more than I can smooth over.”

On screen, the car had stopped by the edge of the harbour, a few feet from the waiting cops. Natasha got out slowly with her hands raised, but Bucky didn't even seem to realise they were there. He headed straight for the edge of the harbour and gazed out after the boat that was heading for the horizon with Clint on it.

 _“Commissariat de Monaco, commissaire Lemaire, j'écoute ,”_ said a voice on Tony's phone and he put it to his ear.

“Hey, Guillaume, it's Tony Stark. Can we do this in English? My French is pretty horrific.” He glanced at his tablet to see that JARVIS had put up the list of boats he'd asked for and started scrolling through them. They didn't want anything too big, nothing that would need a full crew, but it would need to be fast so it could catch up with the asshole who had Clint.

 _“Indeed,”_ said Lemaire. _“I have heard you butcher it before. May I ask what this is in regards to?”_

“Well, you know the car chase you've probably been hearing all about?” asked Tony.

There was a groan. _“Of course you are involved in that. Mr Stark, do you only come to Monaco to rain destruction down on it?”_

“Hey, I've been there tons of times without breaking any of it,” said Tony. “And I'm not even there now. It's a couple of my guys. They were being pursued by bona fide bad guys, who you can keep. Run their prints through Interpol and I bet you get some pings. My guys though, I kinda need them unhindered.”

On-screen, police were slowly circling around Bucky, who was still ignoring both them and Steve's attempts to call him. He was posed on the edge of the harbour in a way that made Tony a little worried he was just going to dive in and swim after Clint, which seemed like a terrible idea. A metal arm was probably not all that conducive to floating.

 _“Unhindered,”_ repeated Lemaire. _“Mr. Stark, even if we do not charge them, we still have a number of questions we would like to ask.”_

“Ask me instead,” said Tony. “Come on, be a pal? I'll totally pay for any damage to your roads and the tunnel.”

Bucky suddenly broke, turning away from the water to sink a fist into the nearest thing, which was a mooring post. Tony saw it dent in the shape of a fist.

“And, uh, that post,” he added.

Lemaire sighed. _“Mr. Stark, Monaco may not be a big country but we take incidents of this nature very seriously, as I'm sure you remember from last time.”_

“Yeah, okay,” said Tony. “But last time was all wrapped up by the time you guys were involved, so I had plenty of time for you. Some asshole has kidnapped Hawkeye, which may sound like a really weird life choice to you, but we kinda like him. Every minute my guys spend dealing with your cops is one minute further away he's gonna get before we can rescue him.”

There was a very telling pause. Bucky had finally picked up his phone and was turning around to face the police with the hand not holding the phone raised.

“Tony's sorting it out,” Tony heard Steve tell him, with way more confidence than Tony was feeling about his attempt to wrangle Lemaire. “We'll get you after Clint as soon as we can, Buck. The police are on our side, remember? Don't make this harder for us.”

Tony didn't hear Bucky's response, but he watched on-screen as Bucky went to his knees, and Tony let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in. A Winter Soldier moment really wouldn't have helped his case.

“Look,” he said to Lemaire. “I get that you're not a huge fan of me, how about I get Captain America to talk to you? His word is his bond, and all that.”

Lemaire snorted. _“He is a walking propaganda machine for America's particular brand of imperialist arrogance. I would prefer to deal with you. I understand your type.”_

Wow, okay, that was a little harsh. Tony glanced over at Steve and fought his tongue for a moment. Nothing was going to be helped by him going into an impassioned rant about how inaccurate that was as a picture of Steve, not when they needed this guy on their side. Tony could send him a memo later. Maybe a thesis.

“What type am I, then?” he asked instead. “Guys who are worried sick about their friends being hurt by criminals?”

 _“Rich men who are used to getting everything they want,”_ said Lemaire. He sighed. _“Hawkeye is truly in danger?”_

“Oh yeah,” said Tony. “Seriously, we need the two guys being cuffed and put in cop cars to be on his tail as soon as possible. Anything happens to him because your lot delayed them and we're all going to be really fucking pissed.”

 _“Is that a threat?”_ asked Lemaire. _“No, don't answer that. I will ask my men to let them go free, on the grounds that they immediately leave Monaco and none of you come back here for at least a year. The clear up is far too expensive.”_

Tony beamed. “Thanks, Guillaume, you're the best.” He hung up without waiting for him to change his mind.

“Okay,” he said to Steve, who had been forced to hang up on Bucky when the police had taken him into custody and was now frowning anxiously at the screen. “Got Natasha and your bestie sprung. Now let's get them after Clint before he manages to do something even stupider than getting kidnapped.”

He scrolled further down the list of yachts and found exactly what he was looking for. “Oh man, yes! JARVIS, I need you to call Christopher Bronstein. Can we get a number for him?”

“Only his PA's number is listed anywhere easily accessible,” said JARVIS. “I can dig further for his private line, if you wish, but it would not be entirely legal.”

“No, no, that's cool. Call his PA,” said Tony. “Get her to put us through. If she gets funny about it, tell her it's about a favour he owes me.”

One of the police officers was clearly getting a phone call that made him wave his arms with indignation. Tony watched with glee, then glanced over at Steve to find him sitting forward, staring at the car Bucky had been ushered into with a frown.

“How long would it take a quinjet to fly out there?” he asked.

“Just over four hours,” said Tony. Too long for Steve to fly to the side of his beloved without slowing the mission down way too much, he thought, although he bit his tongue before he could say it.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, okay. Guess we'll leave that for if they really need back-up, then. Who's Christopher Bronstein?”

“Guy I went to school with,” said Tony, just as his phone flashed to show JARVIS had put the call through to him. He put it to his ear. “Hey, Bronstein, long time no speak.”

 _“I don't owe you any favours,”_ said Bronstein immediately, because he always cut right to the chase. Tony liked that about him.

“Sure you do,” said Tony. “The incident in the history classroom alone puts you pretty seriously in my debt.”

There was a pause. _“At the time, you said we were even,”_ said Bronstein. _“Or is this some kind of blackmail? I'd have thought better of you, Stark.”_

“Blackmail?” repeated Tony, with all the shock he could manage. “Moi? No way, not my scene at all, not back then and not now, definitely not now. I hang out with Captain America on a regular basis, do you have any idea what he'd do if he thought I was blackmailing people? There'd be some pretty serious glaring, I can tell you.”

Steve sent him a glare. Tony raised an eyebrow back at him because he was just proving his point.

 _“Good,”_ said Bronstein. _“Then what do you want? It can't possibly be to demand reciprocation for something from over twenty years ago. The statute of limitations is definitely out on that one.”_

“Okay, okay, maybe I was just trying to butter you up by reminding you of good old times,” said Tony. “I need a favour.” Bucky and Natasha had been let out of the police cars and uncuffed. Natasha was talking to the guy who looked like he was in charge while Bucky had gone back to staring out at the harbour.

Bronstein let out a sigh. _“Then just ask it, and I'll decide if it's something I'm willing to do for a guy I was barely friends with at school and haven't spoken to since.”_

“How about for a guy who regularly saves the world?” asked Tony. “Or, hey, what if it's a favour for Captain America? I could get him to ask.” He glanced over at Steve, who was following the conversation with a frown.

 _“Tony, just get to it already,”_ said Bronstein. _“I was halfway through lunch.”_

Right, cutting straight to the chase. “I need your boat. The one in Monaco. You're not using it right now, are you?”

 _“My boat,”_ repeated Bronstein. _“Remind me again how many you have?”_

“Three,” said Tony. “Well, three and a half, I share one with Pepper, not the point though, cuz what I don't own is a boat that's currently in Monaco, and it's kinda urgent. Promise to take really good care of it, won't even put a scratch on it.” He paused and thought about the idea of the Winter Soldier and Black Widow chasing after criminals who had kidnapped Clint in it, and winced. “Well, okay, it might get a few bullet holes, but I can totally buy you a new one.”

Bucky and Natasha were now both on the edge of the quay, having what looked like an argument to Tony. He recognised the body language all too well. Wow, Natasha's hair just got worse every time he looked at it. He wondered how much mockery he could get away with before she tried to stab him.

 _“I knew I should have just blocked this call,”_ said Bronstein.

“It's for the greater good,” said Tony, with as much sincerity as he could manage. “Might save a life. The Avengers would be indebted to you. We could put out a statement? That's gotta be good for PR.”

 _“Too much oversell,”_ noted Bronstein. _“I'm definitely not getting my boat back in one piece. If it's for Avengers business though, I suppose I can't really say no. You're definitely buying me a new one, though.”_

Tony punched the air. “Thanks a million, buddy, you won't regret this. You got a minion in Monaco with the keys who can run them down to the harbour in, uh, the next three minutes?”

 _“There's a set in the harbour master's office,”_ said Bronstein. _“I'll authorise him to hand them over to you.”_

“Oh, not me,” said Tony. “I'm not there. Sitting this one out. Tell him to expect Natasha Romanov or Bucky Barnes.”

 _“I'm handing my boat over to the Russian spy and the Hydra assassin,”_ said Bronstein blankly. _“Oh god.”_

“Okay, you need to start using 'ex-' with those,” said Tony. “Russian _ex_ -spy and _ex_ -Hydra assassin, and current superheroes, world-savers and all-round good guys. Well, unless you try and eat Natasha's Nutella, then you get a non-good guy side of her.”

Bronstein's sigh was long and tired. _“Fine, right, okay. I'm going back to lunch and then I guess I'll start shopping around for a new boat. I'll get my PA to tell the harbour master to release the keys to them. And, Stark?”_

“Yup?”

_“Do me a favour, and never mention the history classroom thing again.”_

“Done,” said Tony, and hung up. He gave Steve a triumphant smile. “Got our guys a boat. JARVIS, let them know, would you?”

Steve shook his head, but his expression was oddly admiring. “I'm always impressed when you do that.”

“Use a telephone?” asked Tony. “Or, wait, use my connections? Cuz usually that pisses people off.”

“No,” said Steve. “The way you just make things happen. Natasha and Bucky needed to avoid being arrested and to get a boat, and in less than five minutes, you've managed both. And without any of the collateral damage they would’ve caused if left to their own devices.”

“Yeah, Nat and Bucky aren't really the ones you want out there if you want to avoid making a mess,” said Tony, ignoring the compliment as much as he could, because it made warm tingles run under his skin.

Steve nodded and watched as Bucky and Natasha set off for the harbour master's office. The helicopter crew decided that nothing else interesting was going to happen, and the view panned away.

“JARVIS, end the feed,” said Tony, setting the tablet to one side. “Keep monitoring Clint's tracker, update me if there are any changes. You've got which boat he's on, right?”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS. “The _Silver Princess_ , registered to Anton Kulish.”

“Get all the info you can on him,” said Tony. “Just in case.”

“Yes, sir,” said JARVIS.

Steve let out a sigh that Tony pretended not to hear, one that sounded too much like a desperate longing to be somewhere other than locked up in a workshop with a crippled billionaire. To be fair, Tony didn't want to be here either. If he had access to his armour right now, he'd be halfway across the Atlantic already.

Instead, he pulled Dummy's arm towards himself and went back to the repairs as if he wasn't twitching with anxiousness.

“So,” said Steve, slowly, “what was the incident in the history classroom?”

Tony blinked and then let out a tired half-laugh. “Oh, I blew him,” he said. “Pretty much the most social interaction we had at school, after a midnight feast that someone—who will remain nameless, definitely wasn’t me—brought a couple of bottles of whiskey along to. It was the only real in I had with him.”

Steve was staring at him now, Tony could feel it, but he kept on his eyes firmly on his work. Probably a good thing that Steve found out he wasn't the only guy on the Avengers who played for more than one team. If he did start something with Bucky, Tony didn't want him hiding it away out of fear that they'd react like the guys they'd known growing up probably would have.

“You blew him,” repeated Steve, in a tone of voice that Tony couldn't read anything into.

“It was boarding school and, I don't know if you noticed, I'm kinda slutty,” he said. “I blew quite a few guys.”

“Right,” said Steve, and then took a deep breath. “Okay,” he added in a much quieter voice.

Tony left him to process that on his own.

 

****

Clint woke up on a cushioned surface with his wrists in handcuffs. A distant thrumming noise was vibrating through him and he could hear water nearby. He lay still for a minute or two, pulling his thoughts together as the drug wore off.

Oh man, Natasha was never going to let him live this down. Kidnapped on what should have been a simple retrieval mission by a guy like Anton Kulish.

 _And_ just as he'd been testing the waters on whether or not the crazy hypothesis he'd come up with about Bucky was right or just another sign that Clint needed to get his head checked. But there _had_ been something other than annoyance in Bucky's eyes just after Clint had kissed him, he was definitely sure on that one. It had taken him less than a second after thinking _Holy shit, does he have a thing for me?_ to realise that he desperately wanted Bucky to have a thing for him.

Before he could really test the theory by the tried and true method of flirting with Bucky in increasingly obvious ways to see if he’d be punched or kissed for his efforts, everything had gone to shit. Fucking Anton. Clint was going to enjoy taking the fucker down.

There were no sounds other than the engine and the water, so Clint let his eyes blink open. He was in the cabin of a yacht, lying on a sofa covered in cream leather. Through a set of doors that were thrown open, he could see the sea stretching into the darkness of the night, their wake spreading out behind them. In the distance, he could see lights flickering on land. Crap, this was going to be a bit tricky to escape from.

"Daniel," said a voice, and Clint tore his eyes away from the view to look at Anton, who was lounging on the opposite sofa. At the other end of the cabin, opposite the doors, was a built-in bar. All of the assorted weaponry Clint had been carrying on him was spread out across it, which was irritating. He’d much prefer to still have it all on him.

They had left his hearing aids in though, which was something. People were usually pretty obliging about not taking away a deaf guy's aids, which was one of the reasons why Tony always built Clint's comms directly into them. "Hello," he said, looking at Anton as if he was talking to him.

 _"Oh, thank god,"_ said Natasha's voice. _"Clint Barton, you're an unbelievable pain in my ass."_

Clint had to hold in a grin at her tone, which was far more familiar than it should be.

"Is there a good reason you're taking me on a boat trip?" he asked Anton, just in case she hadn't figured out where he was.

 _"We've got your location,"_ said Natasha. _"Stark found us a boat and we're on your tail."_

 _"Just don't do anything stupid until we get there,"_ added Bucky, in a growl. Okay, that was more of a turn on than Clint would have guessed. Would he be able to get Bucky to make that noise if they ended up in bed together?

"You know exactly why you're here," said Anton. "Who else would I want with me now that I am finally making my name?"

Clint let out a sigh, and struggled upright. "You know, you really need to learn that no means no."

The smile Anton gave him was irritatingly condescending. "Oh Daniel, we both know that you don't ever mean no when you say it to me. You feel this too."

"I really don't," said Clint. "Unless 'this' is a growing sense of unease."

Anton's smile didn't waver. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I can't believe we're finally here, together."

Unease was understating it by quite a lot. Clint had a feeling he was in a lot of trouble right now.

"Dude, you _kidnapped_ me. This is not some awesome romantic moment. I'm in handcuffs."

"I've had plenty of romantic moments involving handcuffs," said Anton. "Besides, from the kind of equipment you carry, I'm sure you've been here before." He gestured at Clint's weaponry. "Seems rather a lot for someone small time, and my men said that someone had already got to the guards when they went to lift the goods. Exactly who are you, Daniel? And who are you working with?"

 _"Oh, this is sad,"_ said Natasha. _"He's spent years obsessing over you, and yet never once recognised you as an Avenger. I told you no one paid attention to Hawkeye."_

Clint bit his tongue to stop himself from trying to defend himself. "Apparently, I'm no one," he said to Anton. It was tempting to reveal his identity, but if Anton kept thinking he was just a thief or a hooker or both, he wouldn't realise just how many resources the people coming after him had until it was too late.

"Not to me," said Anton. He stood up and came to sit next to Clint, sliding a hand onto his knee. "Never to me."

Clint twitched. "Get your hands off me." There was an angry noise from Bucky over the comms but no actual coherent words.

Anton just laughed, squeezing Clint's leg. "You're just delightful. Trying so hard not to give into this, but—"

"But nothing," said Clint. "Seriously, dude, you're insane. I haven't spared a moment's thought for you since I drugged you in order to get out of sleeping with you, and once I get out of this, I won't think of you again. You're just a sleazy guy I made the mistake of hooking up with nearly ten years ago. I have no idea where the fuck you're getting all this Romeo and Juliet crap from."

The smile fell off Anton's face and he directed a black glare at Clint, squeezing his hand hard enough to hurt. "I am losing my patience," he snapped.

"Oh man, can't have that," said Clint. “Wait, hang on, I don't give a shit.”

Anton actually snarled at him for that, and then backhanded him hard enough to split Clint's lip. Awesome, a guy with a temper and low impulse control. Clint could work with that.

“You will speak civilly to me,” hissed Anton.

“That seems pretty unlikely,” said Clint. “I don't speak civilly to anyone.” He stuck his tongue out and licked at the cut. Eh, he'd had worse.

“Not even your master? He didn't seem like the type to put up with your smart mouth.”

It took Clint several seconds to realise he was talking about Bucky—or at least the guy Bucky had pretended to be. Clint grinned smugly at him. “Are you kidding? He fucking loves my mouth.”

 _“Not so much when you're getting hit for it, I don't,”_ he heard Bucky mutter over the comms. Which must mean that he liked Clint's mouth the rest of the time, right? Totally.

 _“He knows what he's doing,”_ said Natasha, because she'd played this game before. Hell, she was the one who had taught it to Clint.

Anton grabbed Clint's jaw in one hand, squeezing tightly. “Yes, I have fond memories of your mouth too,” he said. “But you would be able to suck cock just as well without your vocal chords.”

Clint made a face as well as he could around Anton's grip. “That seems like a lot of hassle for you. How about you just let me go and find a guy who actually wants to be your whore?”

Anton shook his face. “No. You may not be the man I thought you were, but I'm not letting you go that easily. I will make you mine.”

That didn't sound good. That didn't sound even a little bit good. This guy was completely off his rocker.

Luckily, the moment was interrupted by the arrival of a man who might as well have had 'henchman' tattooed on his forehead.

"Anton, there is something you should see."

Anton let out a long sigh and sent a glare over his shoulder. "One moment."

The man didn't move. "You will want to see it as soon as possible."

Clint pushed at Anton with his cuffed hands. "Off you go then. Piss off."

Anton turned a furious glare on him. "You will regret angering me," he said, which might be more impressive as a threat to someone who didn't hang out with Bruce on a regular basis.

He stood up and grabbed Clint's shoulder, pulling him off the sofa with a violent jerk. Clint managed to get his feet under him as he was dragged over to a narrow metal pole that ran from the edge of the bar to the ceiling.

Anton gave him a sharp slap, then undid one of the cuffs while Clint was blinking back the pain, yanked Clint's arms around the pole, and redid the cuff. Clint let it happen, all too aware of the gaze of the henchman and the way his hand was resting on his gun.

Once he was cuffed to the pole, Anton turned away and pulled out the kind of dark holdall that people only used for drugs, weapons or large amounts of unmarked, non-sequential bills, and swept all of Clint's equipment off the bar into the bag.

"Aw, be careful," said Clint. "Some of that shit is expensive." Given that some of it was one-of-a-kind Stark originals, it was more than expensive, it was priceless. Anton sent him a glare and ignored him as he swept out of the cabin, followed a moment later by his henchman.

Clint let out a sigh. "Bad news, guys, I don't think he loves me any more."

 _"You're alone?"_ asked Natasha.

"Yeah," said Clint. "Give me a sec and I'll get myself free. The idiots only took my weapons."

Natasha snorted. _"Amateurs."_

Clint pulled his sleeve back from his watch, pulling it up with his teeth so he could use his other hand to pull out the tiny lockpick hidden behind the face.

 _"Are you hurt?"_ asked Bucky. _"He was hitting you."_

"Aw, you do care," said Clint. "I'm fine, he hits like—uh, not like a girl, because if Natasha had hit me, I'd probably still be knocked out, but like someone kinda pathetic."

He frowned as he concentrated on picking the lock on the cuffs. They were pretty cheap handcuffs and the lock was fairly simple, so it didn't take him long.

"How far away are you guys?" he asked.

 _Too far for you to just jump overboard and wait for us in the water,"_ said Natasha, because she knew him too well.

The handcuffs came free and he allowed himself a moment of triumph. "Guess I'll have to find another way, then," he said. "Oh hey, should I be grabbing the taser on my way?"

 _"No,"_ said both Bucky and Natasha in tandem.

 _"Just get off the boat and away,"_ said Natasha. _"We'll pick you up, then go in for the taser with all three of us."_

Clint made his way through the doors to the walkway over-hanging the stern. He was on the second deck and below he could see just what he was looking for: A life raft in a white plastic case, hanging on brackets out over the railings. Perfect.

Well, mostly perfect. He could have done without the guy apparently taking a smoke break right next to it, leaning on the stern rail and gazing out over the dark water at the starlit sky. He looked very peaceful and relaxed and Clint almost felt bad about interrupting him.

Almost.

He climbed carefully up onto the railing, braced himself, then leapt down to land on the guy.

They both fell to the ground with a crash, although Clint at least had a soft landing. He recovered as quickly as he could and pulled back to knock the guy out properly, but the guy was even quicker, lashing out at Clint with the nearest thing to hand, which was his cigarette.

He caught Clint on the neck with the glowing end of the cigarette and there was a sizzle and a blinding stab of pain as it burnt into his skin. At the same time, he started shouting for back up. Crap, so much for keeping things stealthy.

 _Just like being a kid again,_ Clint thought as he reared back away from the scorching burn, then knocked the guy's hand aside and punched him out with a solid blow.

Too late. The guy's shouts had brought stampeding footsteps in Clint's direction. He glanced at the life raft but there wasn't going to be time to get it down and into the water, and even if there was, he'd just be a sitting duck once he was in it.

Damnit.

"Escape's not going so good," he said, just as a hoard of armed men burst out onto the stern. "Gonna have to rely on you guys, I think."

 _"We're only an hour out,"_ said Natasha. _"We'll get you."_

 _"Just don't get yourself killed,"_ added Bucky.

The men all swarmed Clint before he could respond. He kicked out at one of them, driving him back into one of his colleagues and sending them both stumbling back against the railing. He hit the next nearest, ducking as another one tried to grab him and then grabbing at his hand, wrenching his wrist around until he heard it crack.

He was fighting a losing battle, though. There was no way he could hold out against this many guys, especially not with nothing but the sea behind him. He could block one hit and duck another, but there was nothing he could do about the third, hammering into his chest hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs.

One of them grabbed his arm and wrenched it back, then he was forced to his knees and one of the guys he'd hit put his boot into his ribs, which caused a sharp pain and a nasty cracking sound.

“Stop!” commanded a voice and Clint glanced up to see that Anton had arrived. “Oh, hey, asshole,” he grunted out, which earned him another kick.

Aw, ribs, no. They better only be bruised; he hated waiting for cracked ribs to heal.

Anton said something harsh in another language and the guy kicking Clint stopped, turning to Anton with a sneer and replying in the same language.

Clint tried to suppress a sigh. Well, it wasn't Russian, because he'd be able to understand at least some of it if it was, but it sounded similar. Ukrainian probably, given Anton's heritage. Which meant Clint wasn't going to get a word of it because while it might be similar, it wasn't similar enough for a guy who'd never been that great at languages to start with.

“You know, if you're going to talk about a guy, a translation would be nice,” he said.

The guy holding him down smacked the back of his head, but Clint hadn't been asking any of them.

It was Bucky rather than Natasha who replied. Clint always forgot that Hydra had stuffed his head with more than weapons knowledge. _“He is accusing Kulish of being an idiot and thinking with his cock. He thinks they should just shoot you in the head and throw you off the boat, because you're too much trouble.”_

 _“He's not wrong,”_ said Natasha.

Anton grabbed the guy by the throat and shook him, growling something back.

 _“Good news,”_ said Bucky. _“This guy is nuts enough to think you're worth keeping around. He's saying he's in charge and no one gets to question him.”_

The guy wasn't looking daunted by Anton's rage, although he also wasn't trying to get loose. He spat something very bitter back at Anton.

 _“Oh, that's trouble,”_ said Bucky. _“He's saying that Anton's already put them all in danger by bringing a guy with a tracking signal on board.”_

 _“If they know you're being tracked,”_ started Natasha, but mercifully didn't finish the sentence. Clint was already all too aware of what that could mean for him.

 _“Why the fuck can't this boat go any faster?”_ muttered Bucky, as Anton dropped his henchman and turned to glare at Clint instead.

“Who are you working for?” he asked.

“Your mom,” said Clint.

Anton's expression didn't change. “You are emitting a tracking signal so advanced that my men almost didn't catch it. Someone with a lot of money cares about knowing where you are.”

“Okay, you got me,” said Clint. “It's Santa. He really wants to find out if I've been naughty or nice.”

“Oh, you've been naughty,” said Anton. “Very naughty.” He gestured at one of his men, who hit Clint around the head again.

“Is it your man?” asked Anton. “I never did get his name.”

Clint managed a savage grin. “Yeah, and you're really going to regret that once he turns up. He's gonna take you apart.”

 _”Damn straight I am,”_ muttered Bucky in his ears, which was sweet of him.

Anton didn't look impressed but that was fine. Plenty of time for him to wet his pants once he realised he'd pissed off the Winter Soldier. He signalled his man again and Clint got another ringing slap, this one close enough to his ear to dislodge his aid.

“Hey, careful,” he said, tucking it back into place. “How am I meant to come up with sassy answers to his stupid questions if you fuck my aids up?”

Anton's eyes darted to Clint's ears and he frowned. Ah, crap, shouldn't have drawn attention to them.

“You weren't deaf the first two times we met,” he said.

Clint shrugged. “Shit happens.”

Anton leaned in to get a closer look at Clint's aids and Clint shifted away, stopping sharp when the guy still holding his arm wrenched it higher up his back. Okay, ow, that hurt.

“And those look almost too small to be real aids,” carried on Anton. “My grandfather's were at least twice the size.”

“Technology moves on,” said Clint. “You wouldn't believe how expensive these were.”

Anton raised an eyebrow. “Because they were custom-made? Perhaps by someone who wished to track you? Oh Daniel, who have you let yourself get involved with?”

Damn it, there was no way this was ending well. “A bunch of awesome guys who are going to kick your ass,” he said, which was all he could say to bid Bucky and Natasha goodbye and good luck as Anton pulled the aids out of his ears.

The world went silent and Clint knew that somewhere a long way off, a little red light had lit up on a monitoring panel to show that he'd gone offline. Anton looked down at the aids in his hand, said something and then crushed them before turning to throw the pieces out into the ocean.

“Aw man,” said Clint, watching them go. “Do you have any idea how annoying it is to get new ones?” He'd have to do some serious sucking up to Tony, especially since he didn’t have his workshop right now and was probably way behind on whatever his actual work was.

He turned back from the ocean to see Anton saying something else to him and rolled his eyes.

“No point in talking at me, genius,” he said. “I can't hear a word you're saying.”

He hadn't realised what a difference it made to have Natasha and Bucky listening in, offering sarcastic commentary. Without his comms, he felt horribly alone, surrounded by hostiles, ocean, and this fucking nutcase who thought they were destined to be together.

The guy holding his arm jerked him to his feet and then a heavy weight came down on the back of his head. Everything went black.

 

****

_"A bunch of awesome guys who are going to kick your ass,"_ said Clint, with a hard note of fury to his voice, then there was a bang, a burst of static, and abrupt silence.

Natasha's phone made a warning beeping sound and she took her hands off the boat wheel in order to check it. "Tracker's offline," she reported. "They must have destroyed his aids."

Bucky let out a long breath through his nose. Somewhere out on the dark ocean in front of them, Clint was deaf and defenceless in the hands of a creepy bastard. "Can't this boat go any faster?"

"If it could, it would already be," said Natasha sharply. "Stop asking."

Bucky gritted his teeth but obligingly shut up. Every muscle was thrumming with tension and his stomach was rolling with terror. This was the flipside of caring about people, he thought to himself: the bombardment of emotions that came when they were in danger. It almost made him wish he was still the emotional blank that he had been when Hydra had him, but then he wouldn't have felt the rush of affection when Clint smiled at him, or the tingling anticipation that his casual flirting had caused, or even the surging arousal from the shower this morning.

Natasha sent him a quick glance. "Are you holding it together?" she asked.

Bucky just nodded.

She didn't look convinced. "My priority is getting Clint back. I can't split my focus if you're on the edge."

Bucky took a deep breath, clenched his fists tightly, then let the breath out. "I'm together," he said. "Don't worry about me. Let's just get Clint back."

"Okay, good," she said. "Dips on yelling at him first."

"You'll need to wait till he gets replacement aids."

"Oh no," she said, grimly. "He'll hear me." She glanced back down at her phone. "JARVIS is still tracking the _Silver Princess_. We're only about twenty minutes out from them. We're not going to be able to do this with stealth so it'll have to be fast."

Bucky nodded and turned to the bag of weapons they'd retrieved from the trunk of the car. Fast meant brutal. He pulled out every gun he thought he could carry at once and started tucking them into holsters and pockets.

"Leave some for me," said Natasha and Bucky reluctantly dropped a handgun back into the bag, then slung a machine gun over his shoulder.

Natasha turned off their running lights as they pulled in closer, and then slowed the engines as the _Silver Princess_ 's lights came into sight so they weren't so loud. Bucky headed up to the bows and crouched so he was down below the railing. The moment someone spotted them and started shouting, Natasha turned the throttle right up, running straight for the boat, then ran forward to join Bucky.

Bullets scattered off the water around them and thudded into the fibreglass of the hull. Bucky shot back as soon there was a lull in the shots, not bothering to find targets in favour of raking the decks with semi-automatic gunfire. Beside him, Natasha sent a few more carefully aimed shots from her handguns but kept most of her ammo back for when their boat crashed bow first into the _Silver Princess_ and they both jumped aboard.

The impact of the two boats colliding sent a shudder through the _Silver Princess_ , making her rock violently and throwing the men who had been waiting for them off balance. Bucky sent a final spray of bullets at them before they could recover, then threw the empty gun at the nearest man still standing, catching him right in the face so that he fell backwards, tipping over the rail into the sea.

"You go left, I'll go right," said Natasha. "Then go down and I'll head up. Let me know if you find him."

Bucky nodded, pulling out his pistol and setting off down the gangway on the left side of the boat. There were shots coming from above but they were easily avoided and he picked off the shooters without any difficulty.

There was a cluster of them at the bows but after he'd shot two and punched a third with his metal fist, the rest of them surrendered, which was irritating. Now he was on the Avengers, he had to respect surrender even when what he really wanted was to just tear apart anyone who had been involved in hurting Clint.

He took their weapons and threw most of them overboard, tucking a spare gun in his belt, then shut them in a storage locker. On the deck above, he could hear the sounds of Natasha working her way through to the cockpit, so he lifted the forehatch and jumped down it to reach the lower decks.

There were very few people still down there, as most of them seemed to have rushed up on deck once the fighting started. Bucky went through several bedrooms with larger beds than he had back at Stark's tower, through a seating area that included an enormous jacuzzi and into a kitchen that held a terrified looking man holding a spatula.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" he shouted, raising his hands. "I just cook!"

Bucky growled at him. "Where's the prisoner? Mouthy blond guy?"

The cook shook his head. "No prisoner, no blond guy, I see no one. Please!"

Bucky sighed and lowered his gun. "What about Anton?"

"Anton go,” babbled the cook. “No dinner for Anton, he go off boat."

 _"I've got the cockpit,"_ said Natasha in Bucky's ear. _"Captain is saying that Anton and a couple of others left in the launch, with Clint."_

Bucky growled with frustration, which made the cook drop his spatula and curl up in a ball of fear.

"Please! Please! No shoot!"

"Oh, get up," said Bucky. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

The man started gibbering with relief, but did make it to his feet. Bucky took him back up to the storage locker the others were in, then went up to join Natasha.

She looked just as pissed as he was. She had the captain kneeling by the steering wheel and was crouching next to him, holding a knife in her hands and saying something quiet to him that was making beads of sweat stand out on his forehead.

When Bucky came in, the captain's eyes flicked to him with panic. "Please! I don't know where Mr Kulish has gone. Call her off!"

Bucky just shrugged at him. "She's in charge. Besides, you're better off with her than with me." He flexed his metal hand pointedly, letting the plates shift and realign.

The captain fixed his eyes on it, then went white. "Oh god," he murmured. "That bastard Kulish. He just hired me to run his boat, I don't know anything else, I swear!"

"You know what coordinates you were at when he left, and which bearing he was headed," said Natasha.

The captain hesitated. Bucky lost his temper. They were meant to have Clint back by now, safe and in one piece and giving Bucky that grin. Maybe even flirting with him, if he decided to keep that up.

Bucky should have flirted back. Why hadn't he flirted back? Because he was an idiot who hadn't learnt in ninety years that if you didn't take your chances when you had them, they got ripped away from you.

He strode over to the captain and kicked at his stomach, letting his boot sink in and then grabbing the captain’s hair, wrenching his head to keep him upright.

"If you don't answer, I'm going to start cutting parts off you," he said. "If you're lucky, I'll start with bits that aren't that important, like your toes."

Natasha caught his wrist and sent him a glare from behind the captain's head. Bucky felt his jaw clench but let go, stepping back.

"Tell me, or I'll hand you over to him," Natasha said to the captain.

The captain slumped. "Let me show you on the chart," he said, with defeat. "I really don't know where he was going, though. It looked like he was headed to the shore."

Natasha pulled the map off the chart table and threw it down in front of him. "Show me."

She pulled out her phone as the captain plotted where the boat would have been when Anton left and passed the location to Tony as soon as she had it.

"He was heading for land. What's there?"

Bucky wasn't in the mood to listen to yet more debating over where Clint might have been taken. He grabbed the captain's arm and dragged him to his feet.

"I'll stick him in with the others," he said, and got a distracted nod from Natasha as she spread the chart back out on the table.

He wasn't particularly gentle as he manhandled the guy down to the locker the others were in. He was finding the emotions that were rolling through him hard to keep control of, anger and frustration mounting up until he just wanted to start punching something and not stop. Mostly he wanted that thing to be Anton's face.

What the hell was the bastard going to do with Clint? The guy he'd been arguing with earlier had been right; any sensible criminal would have tossed Clint the moment he realised he was being tracked. If Anton was ignoring that because of his creepy fixation with Clint, what was he going to do with him once he got him somewhere alone, and how was he going to react when Clint made it clear that he'd built his whole idea of 'Daniel' off a lie?

Not well, would be Bucky's guess.

He threw the captain in with the others.

"Police'll be here soon," he told them. "It's in your best interests to just sit tight and keep quiet. Trust me, I'm just itching for an excuse for some violence."

They were all disappointingly meek, so he shut them in again. He didn't want to head back up to the cockpit again just yet, not when he could hear over the comms that Natasha was still talking to Tony.

He pulled the earpiece out, cutting her off, and stuffed it in a pocket. He strode over to the edge of the deck, staring out at the dark ocean surrounding them, wondering how far away across it Clint was. He clenched his hands around the railing and heard it crunch under his metal hand.

This was getting him nowhere. He turned back down towards the stern, heading to the boat they'd borrowed off Tony's friend, but it had drifted off while they'd been subduing Anton's men. Bucky could see an impressive dent in the bow where they'd rammed it, and leaned over to see the matching one on the stern of the _Silver Princess_.

They may not have got Clint back, but they had managed to fuck up two extremely expensive super-yachts. Clint would probably get a kick out of that. Hopefully enough of a kick to balance out his reaction to finding out what Bucky had done to the car he'd been so enamoured with.

If he was still alive when they got to him.

Bucky took a deep breath and pushed the thought away.

The first time Bucky had met Clint, he'd been in the tower less than a day. Steve had dragged him around the whole place on a guided tour as if he gave a shit about where the library was. They'd run into most of the others on the way, which might have been the real point of the exercise; meeting them all without making it into a big production. Bucky didn't remember most of what they'd said to him, just the repeated awkwardness of polite greetings when you knew the other person was wondering how long it would be before you snapped and started killing people. He did know he hadn't found much more than a word or two to say to them and Steve had started giving him increasingly concerned looks that he wasn't meant to see.

Clint had been in the range. He'd turned around when they'd come in and given a wide grin that was aimed just as much at Bucky as it was at Steve. “Oh hey, is it meet and greet time?”

Bucky's tongue felt too large for his mouth and he had no idea what words he should be using it for, so he just gave a bit of a nod.

“This is Bucky,” said Steve.

Clint waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Bucky Barnes, old childhood friend, best bro during the War, unexpectedly alive, shot Natasha that one time: that's all old hat. What I really want to know is if you guys were fucking back in the day.”

Bucky felt his whole body jolt with shock. “What?” he managed. Beside him, Steve had made a strange choking noise that sounded as if it could be laughter.

Clint glanced between their faces. “Okay, well, that's a pretty clear no, then.” He grinned. “A guy I haven't seen in twenty years owes me ten bucks.”

“You bet on whether or not Bucky and I were, uh, lovers?” repeated Steve, incredulously.

Clint shrugged. “Guy I knew at the circus was convinced you guys had a whole Achilles and Patroclus thing going on. I told him that was bull.” He did a little lift on his toes. “Totally going to have to track him down to get that from him.”

Bucky could clearly remember, even months later, just how crazy he'd thought Clint was. “Twenty years ago was before you knew either of us were alive. How the hell were you planning to settle up?” he asked, which was probably the most he'd said all day. He was aware of Steve glancing over at him, but he ignored it.

“Ah,” said Clint, scratching at the back of his neck. “I guess we weren't, really. That wasn't even the stupidest bet we made. He bet me I couldn't beat Robin Hood in a shooting match.”

“Robin Hood is a legend,” Bucky pointed out.

Clint gave him a pointed look. “Like the Winter Soldier, you mean? Or the Norwegian God of Thunder, who's probably upstairs bellowing about poptarts right now?”

Bucky acknowledged that with a dip of his head. “Okay, fine, but that's kinda different. I'm willing to bet that Robin Hood never turns up at your range.”

“I will _take_ that bet,” said Clint, pointing a finger at him.

As Steve and Bucky headed back out of the range, Steve let out a quiet snort. “Shoulda known it would be Clint you'd end up actually talking to,” he said. “You guys are gonna be a nightmare together.”

They had been. Clint had been the first person Bucky had really felt that he could relax around, before even Steve because there was a whole bunch of history with Steve. He and Clint had hung out at the range together, they'd got increasingly competitive on the XBox, they'd screwed around when briefings got boring until Steve threatened to put them in separate corners. And then Bucky had realised he was getting too close and he was about to cause a whole new kind of nightmare, one that could ruin everything he'd managed to build since he'd arrived at the tower.

“You turned your comms off,” said Natasha, behind him.

Bucky turned and shrugged. “Didn't want all that chatter in my ear.”

“I should tell you off for relaxing your guard,” she said, coming to join him at the railing.

She didn't, though. For a few minutes, they stood in silence watched the other yacht drift slowly away from them.

“Clint used to turn his comms off,” she said. “Back before his hearing went. Used to drive our handler nuts.”

“But not you,” guessed Bucky.

A tiny smile crossed her mouth. “No. I always knew how to get his attention.” She glanced back out at the ocean and the smile flickered and died. Her shoulders set and she became all business. “Tony's got JARVIS hunting down every scrap of information he can get on Kulish, to see if there's anywhere near here that he'd be likely to take Clint. The French police are sending out a couple of boats to come take these guys off our hands.”

“So, what's the plan?”

She shrugged. “There isn't one. Not until Tony turns something up.”

Bucky scowled and brought his fist down on the railing with frustration. “We shoulda got him back by now.” If the plan had just worked the way it was meant to, and fucking Anton hadn't turned up and messed it up, they'd have Stark's gadget and be back at the hotel by now. He'd be sharing a bedroom with Clint again, lying awake and listening to him sleep, probably torturing himself over this whole stupid crush.

Instead he was torturing himself over what Anton might be doing. What if they didn't get Clint back before something irreparable happened to him? What if Anton's minion managed to change his mind about just killing Clint and dumping his body?

What if Anton let his dick do too much thinking and—

No, no way, Bucky wasn't thinking about that possibility, not if he wanted to keep it together.

He tried to calm himself with a deep breath, then gave up and turned to punch the nearest thing instead, which was the column holding up the upper deck. It shuddered and made a worrying creaking noise.

Natasha let out a quiet sigh. “I need you together,” she said, turning away to head into the cabin. “And turn your comms back on.”

She disappeared, leaving Bucky to try and pull back in all the anxiety thrumming through him, the stark fear that came over him every time he let his mind go to what might be happening to Clint right now.

Shit. Shit, Natasha was right, he needed to get it together.

How the hell was he meant to do that?

 

****

Steve's phone beeped with an incoming text and he tore his eyes away from where Tony was elbow-deep in blue holograms, chatting to JARVIS about Kulish's finances and digging deep into his personal dealings. He was in his element, using his genius to unravel a criminal's plans, and Steve was finding the sight captivating.

The text was from Natasha. _You might want to call Bucky. He's a bit tense about having missed Clint._

Steve stifled a sigh. He'd been afraid of this.

Bucky had only been officially on the Avengers roster for about a month. He'd been with the team for a handful of missions but nothing that was particularly stressful, or that had lasted longer than the time it took to pound some minor villain into the dust.

Going to Europe with just Natasha and Clint on this kind of mission was very different. Steve still wasn't sure why Bucky had volunteered, unless he was trying to prove something.

He really hoped Bucky knew he didn't have to prove anything to anyone on the team.

He hit dial and it rang just long enough for Steve to get nervous before Bucky answered it.

_"Stevie."_

The moment Steve heard his voice, he knew Natasha was right to be worried. Bucky's voice was quiet but full of emotion that gave away just how close to the edge he was.

Steve glanced at Tony, who didn't seem to be paying any attention. "Hey, what's going on?"

Bucky let out a half-laugh. _"I don't— Steve. How did I used to do this? I can't remember."_

"Do what?" asked Steve.

There was a long pause, during which Steve could hear that Bucky's breathing was coming faster than it should be.

 _“Care about people,”_ he muttered, eventually. _“I don't— I can remember you nearly dying, you know. Like, a lot, seemed like something hit you every damn winter that could take you out. And I can remember being scared and worried, but somehow it wasn't like this. It didn't feel like it was taking over everything.”_

Ah. Well, that wasn't exactly what Steve had been expecting, but he guessed it made sense. It wasn't as if Bucky had really done any caring for seventy years. It probably took a while to get used to that again.

“Clint will be fine,” he started, but was cut off before he could finish.

 _“You can't know that,”_ said Bucky. _“Anything could happen to him. Hell, it might already have happened. If Kulish had any sense he'd have killed him by now.”_ His voice was shaking by the end of that and his breathing was starting to sound like Steve's had been, back when he was a kid having yet another asthma attack.

“You can't think about that,” said Steve. “You just hold on to the image of finding him, alive and well and snarking about how long it took us. Dwelling on the worst case scenario doesn't help anyone.”

 _“Helps you prepare,”_ muttered Bucky.

“No,” said Steve sharply. He was dimly aware that Tony's attention was caught by his tone, but he needed to say this, with or without an audience. “No, it really doesn't. You think if I'd spent the war worrying about you getting killed that it would have made a single second of difference to how I felt when you were? No way. I'da been devastated either way. Much better to pretend it'll never happen and concentrate on what's going on in the moment.”

Bucky was quiet for a long time, apparently thinking that over, but Steve could hear his breathing calming down, so he let him contemplate it. Tony was giving him a curious look so Steve just sent back a half shrug and a look that he hoped said that he had this under control. Tony nodded slowly and turned back to whatever magic he was doing with JARVIS.

 _“Okay, so, what? Everyone just goes around pretending to themselves that the people they care about will be healthy and happy and alive forever?”_ said Bucky, eventually.

Steve shrugged. “Not really, but you've gotta tuck the thought of anything else happening away. Especially when you've got a job to do. We will get him back, Bucky, you can be sure of that.”

 _“And if we can't,”_ said Bucky, _“we'll avenge him, right?”_

Steve snorted. “I'm pretty sure you and Natasha will end up doing that regardless of what condition he's in when you find him. Kulish is going to have a very bad day.”

 _“Oh yeah,”_ agreed Bucky, and there was a feral edge to his voice that hadn't been there before Hydra. _“Just, it'll be best if Clint's there to help out.”_

“He will be,” said Steve. “Come on, you know Clint. No way a punk like Kulish is going to take out Hawkeye.”

 _“Just keep believing that, yeah?”_ said Bucky. _“Well, okay, I'll try it.”_

“Get a picture of Kulish broken and bleeding, and Clint crowing about how he took him down when you know that you and Nat did all the real work,” advised Steve. “Keep it fixed in your mind, and then just work towards it until you get there.”

 _“Yeah, okay,”_ said Bucky. He pulled in and let out a very long breath. _“Okay,”_ he said again, and this time there was the snap of determination in his voice. _“He's gonna be fine, because I won't let him not be.”_

“Exactly,” said Steve. “None of us will. Tony's gonna pull some amazing piece of genius and track him down, then you and Natasha are going to go tear Kulish apart and get Clint back.”

 _“Okay. Sounds good.”_ There was a noise from somewhere in the distance. _“That's the police turning up,”_ said Bucky. _“I guess I should go do—whatever it is you do when you've got a bunch of injured and imprisoned mob guys and two smashed up yachts to explain.”_

“You stand back and let Natasha do the talking,” advised Steve. “I'll talk to you soon, Buck. Call me if you need to.”

 _“Sure thing,”_ said Bucky, and hung up.

Steve turned his phone over in his hand thoughtfully for a moment, thinking back over the conversation.

“Hey, Tony,” he said, looking up at him. “You're better at this stuff than me. How long has Bucky had a thing for Clint?”

Tony actually did a double-take, which was a thing Steve only thought happened in books, and he went a very strange colour. “What?” he choked out.

“Huh,” said Steve, looking back at his phone. “Good to know I'm not the last one to work it out.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Clint woke up, his head was throbbing from the hit that had knocked him out. God, he really hoped he didn't have a concussion. Or at least, not a bad one.

He wasn't on a boat anymore. There was no vibration from the engine and no rocking waves. He was lying on his back on a padded surface, his hands were cuffed to something above his head and, worryingly, it felt like he was wearing a lot less clothing than he had been when he'd been knocked out.

Without his aids in, that was about all he could tell without opening his eyes. Time to face the music.

The first thing he saw was Anton, which was pretty unpleasant. He was on a large four-poster bed that had little wispy white curtains hanging at the corners. He'd been stripped down to his boxers, which was either a sensible strategy given that he'd had a tracker on him, or a worrying prelude to whatever Anton was planning. Given the setting, the latter seemed more likely, but he pinned his hopes on the former.

Anton started saying something when he saw Clint's eyes were open, but Clint ignored him in favour of looking around the room. There was a wide window showing the sky beginning to lighten with dawn, a glass door leading out onto what looked like a balcony, and the main door didn't have a lock on it. If he could just get a minute alone and manage to slip the cuffs, escape would be easy.

Anton reached out and patted Clint's stomach and he flinched away from the touch, then raised his head off the mattress to glare at him.

"I hope you're not saying anything important, cuz I'm not getting a word of it. Deaf, remember?"

Anton snorted and said something else, which Clint managed to read just about well enough to understand.

"We #### know #### deaf ##### is # ploy. You #### ##ery word."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, I wish." He let his head fall back onto the mattress and considered his situation. It didn't look good.

Anton's hand hadn't moved away from his stomach and it was making Clint's skin crawl. His legs weren't tied down and most of the initial dizziness had passed, so he pushed himself back, dislodging Anton's hand as he sat up against the headboard with his cuffed hands trapped behind his back.

Anton lifted his hand as if he was allowing Clint to move, and gave him a quiet smirk. "I ## enjoying the ####. ### look #### hot-## naked #### ## guessed."

"Any chance of a blanket?" asked Clint.

Anton's smirk widened and he patted at Clint's ankle, laughing when Clint twitched his leg away and curled it up under him instead.

"## Daniel, ### ### fight ## now, but ### have you ## the ###. You ### train a man ## ######## with ### ##### application ## pain, ### ####. ########## #### ### combined #### # little pleasure, ####### in just ### ##### ###. # #### make you mine, #### #### ### always ###### #### been, ### you'll thank me ### it ## the ###."

He moved closer to Clint so that he could stroke a hand over his shoulder and then down his chest.

Okay, between the concussion, Anton's accent and Clint's shitty lip-reading skills, he didn't get much of that, but what he did get was just enough to seriously worry him. This was not good. Not good at all.

Shit.

Clint took a deep breath, ignoring Anton as he started wittering on about something else and doing his best to pretend the hand on him didn't exist. Time to change his plan of action. Pissing Anton off had made sense on the boat, when Clint had needed to keep him off-balance and not thinking clearly, and hopefully get some information out of him for Natasha and Bucky to overhear. Now though, what Clint really needed was to distract Anton and keep him the hell away from Clint until the others turned up and rescued him.

The easiest way to do that, Clint figured, was with the truth.

"You know, I can't help but think your plans all seem a bit long-term. You're not going to have me that long."

Anton laughed and said something that Clint didn't bother tracking.

"Seriously, you don't have the faintest idea what a shitstorm you've walked into by grabbing me. My team are going to unleash hell on you."

Anton said something with a sneer that definitely included 'Daniel', and maybe something about 'your man'. Or possibly 'your tan'. 'Your van'? Probably not.

"Stop calling me Daniel. My name's Clint. Clint Barton."

Anton did not look enlightened and Clint sighed. He hated it when Natasha was right.

"Seriously? How can you not know who I am? I've saved the world, like, three times. Well, helped save the world, the others kinda did all the heavy lifting. What about Hawkeye, do you know that one?"

It was clear from Anton's face that he did. His eyes widened, then he frowned and shook his head, clearly denying it.

"Google me, if you want," said Clint. "You've got to be able to find at least one photo of me where I'm not being blocked by Thor's biceps or whatever. And," he added, as the thought occurred to him, "I bet it'll mention I'm deaf, so you can stop just ignoring my disability like a dick."

Anton gave him a very suspicious look and pulled out his phone. A few minutes passed but Clint could tell the exact moment he found a photo, because he glanced up at Clint, then back at the phone, then said something with the kind of vehemence you gave a swear word.

"Yeah," said Clint. "Exactly. So basically, you've spent several years obsessing over a guy and yet failing to recognise him on the front cover of various newspapers. Nice going. And now you're going to have a bunch of superheroes turn up at your front door to get me back, probably within hours cuz I bet you haven't hidden your trail well enough to stop Tony Stark hunting you down."

Anton had gone very white, noted Clint with satisfaction.

"Oh, also, the guy who was pretending to be my lover? That was Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. And he's gonna be really pissed that you've made this mission take ten times as long as it should have."

Anton stood up with a violent motion and darted out of the room. Clint didn't bother holding in his snigger. That should keep Anton busy and panicked enough not be groping at Clint.

He turned and inspected the cuffs, which were looped around one of the wooden railings of the headboard, then glanced around at the surrounding area. Okay, nothing to pick the lock with but maybe he could pull the headboard apart and get out that way.

There was a thump and two of Anton's men burst through the door, guns in hand. They ignored Clint in favour of heading out onto the balcony and crouching down behind the balustrade.

Right, okay, the other side effect of freaking Anton out was that security would increase, which would make escaping tricky. Clint settled back with a sigh. Maybe he was going to have to just sit tight and wait for Natasha and Bucky.

Man, he hated sitting tight.

He tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position, but there wasn't much he could do about the way his arms were slowly going numb. Well, he could lie back down again, but he felt vulnerable enough in just his underwear without spreading himself out again.

The minutes passed, glacially slow. If the guards on the balcony were doing anything to make the time pass, Clint didn't have a clue about it. He really, really wished he had his aids in still. How was he meant to even know when the others got here to rescue him?

If they kept him waiting for too long, he was going to start losing it. He gently tapped his head back against the wall behind him, then winced at the stab of pain. Oh right, possible concussion. That wasn't a great plan. He could start whistling, but without his aids in it would probably come out pretty badly.

On the other hand, that would really get on the guards' nerves.

He grinned to himself, and then started on his best attempt at the theme to _Mission Impossible_.  
It took about thirty seconds for his whistling to seriously annoy the men on the balcony. Clint imagined that whistling from a guy who couldn't hear which notes he was hitting or how loudly he was hitting them was pretty painful to listen to.

There were a couple of rude gestures from the balcony which he assumed were accompanied by calls to shut up, and which he happily ignored in favour of launching into the theme from _The Great Escape_. That was enough to make one of them get up and come back into the room.

Clint could actually read his lips well enough to tell he was being told to shut up, but there was no way he was going to pay any attention to that.

"Sorry," he said, cheerfully. "Can't hear you. If you have a request, you'll have to write it down." He launched into _The Imperial March_ without waiting for a response.

The man flushed red with anger, then stepped forward and slapped Clint hard enough around the face to make his head ring. Maybe he should do the sensible thing and keep quiet, given that he already had concussion.

Clint hated doing the sensible thing.

"Not a _Star Wars_ fan? How about this?" he said, and launched into the _Jurassic Park_ theme instead.

The man slapped the other side of his face, which at least evened him up a bit. Everything went a bit dizzy for a moment but Clint blinked it away.

"You know, good thing I'm already deaf, or I might be worried about my eardrums."

The man snarled something else, then sunk a fist into Clint's stomach and ow, ow, oh man, his ribs did not appreciate that.

He was still shaking that off and wondering if he should maybe just shut up and be bored for a bit, when the man turned his head and Clint glanced over to see that the door had opened and Anton had come in.

He scowled at the man and waved a hand at him, and the guy scuttled back out to the balcony. The look he turned on Clint wasn't any friendlier, so it looked like Clint had finally managed to kill off his crush. Yay, go him.

Anton had brought a pad of paper with him, and he held it up to Clint.

_Who will come? How will they attack?_

"Oh, hey, you finally worked out I'm deaf," said Clint. "Good going!"

Anton's glare hardened and he tapped the paper.

"Oh yeah, there's no way I'm telling you anything," said Clint. "Come on, did you seriously think I would?"

Anton pulled out a pen and scribbled for a moment.

_You will regret it if you don't._

Clint just sniggered. "Yeah, sure, the thing I'll regret is _not_ helping you defend yourself from the guys coming to rescue me. Moron."

Anton didn't seem to like being called a moron. He threw the pad down on the bed and set in on picking up where the last guy had left off, punching Clint firmly in the shoulder and following up with a blow to his face, and then another, and another. Clint pulled his knees up to protect his ribs and ducked his head, but with his hands cuffed behind him there was little else he could do.

His ribs were definitely cracked by the time Anton was done and Clint mentally upgraded his concussion from 'mild' to 'I should probably mention this to a medical professional at some point'.

Anton grabbed the pad again.

_You will regret your attitude towards me. I will not be gentle with you._

Clint could feel blood dripping from his split lip and darted out a tongue to catch it. He didn't bother replying with anything other than a snarl.

He was really tired of this bullshit now. He just wanted to be back in that really fancy hotel room, enjoying the bed and pretending he wasn't also enjoying having Bucky sleeping in the next bed over.

 _You think you have the upper hand,_ wrote Anton, _but I may surprise you yet. We didn't just steal guns from the Beletski's, after all._

He strode out of the room, leaving Clint to slump back against the headboard. The guys better hurry up and rescue him soon so that he could get his chance to kick Anton's ribs in for a change.

****

More time passed. Clint spent it trying to find a position that didn't pull on his ribs and watching bruises bloom on his skin. The men on the balcony stayed where they were, apparently content to ignore him now that he was being quiet.

At one point, one of them lit up a cigarette. The smell wafted in to Clint and immediately made him think of Bucky and the conversation they'd had on the balcony at the hotel.

Why the hell had Clint wasted time chatting to Bucky about the dangers of nicotine when he could have been flirting with him? Or, at least, sounding him out to find out if flirting would go down well.

It seemed like it had been going okay. Clint hadn't been wrong about that look on Bucky's face after they'd kissed. He couldn't have been. And Bucky had sounded pretty pissed about Clint being kidnapped over the comms, getting all growly and threatening in a way that sent a tingle over Clint's skin. Something about the idea of Bucky being protective—or even possessive, like he'd been pretending to be at the reception—made a pleasant kind of anticipation settle in Clint's stomach.

Clint really needed this whole thing to be over already so that he could get a definite answer on whether or not Bucky would be up for getting growly and possessive in Clint's bedroom, or at least for having his face kissed off. The longer Clint let himself fantasise about it without finding out if he was just wasting his time, the worse it would be if it turned out Bucky didn't have any interest in him like that.

Oh man, it would be really shit if he didn't.

There was a sudden movement from outside and Clint turned in time to see the men setting their guns to the top of the balustrade and firing down at something.

Something that was firing back, because a moment later the balcony door shattered, glass showering into the room as Clint ducked down, really hoping he wasn't going to get shot by his own guys. One of the men fell back, grabbing at his shoulder, and the other ducked down to check on him.

A vibration shuddered through the building and Clint smiled. That was definitely an explosion. His rescue was on its way.

The guard clearly hadn't been hit that badly because both he and his friend were soon back at the balcony, guns trained down at the ground again.

Trying to remain patient now that a rescue was actually under way was even harder than it had been before. Clint twitched and thought about maybe just breaking himself out now and hoping the men would remain distracted while he did so. Sitting and just waiting to be rescued was really frustrating, especially when he couldn't hear. He could feel the occasional vibration through the bed, but he had no idea how the battle was going.

The men on the balcony stopped firing and ducked down, then appeared to have an argument. Clint was watching them when there was a juddering thump and their heads spun around towards the door.

He followed their gaze to see Bucky had burst through the door with a gun in his hand. He fired twice, hitting them each right in the centre of their foreheads, sending blood and brain matter splattering all over the balcony.

"Oh, thank fuck," said Clint. "Get me out of here, would you?"

Bucky took a look at him and paused for a moment, eyes running over him in a way that meant he was either tallying up his bruises or ogling his semi-naked body. Possibly both; super-soldiers were meant to be good at multi-tasking, right?

He started to say something, then stopped himself. He touched the comm unit in his ear and spoke, then tucked his gun in his waistband and signed for Clint.

_How badly hurt are you?_

"I'm not," said Clint. "Just bruises." Bucky looked sceptical. "Maybe a teeny-tiny concussion," added Clint. Bucky raised an eyebrow and Clint sighed. "Okay, and they got my ribs too, but I think they're just bruised. Maybe cracked, but only a little bit. Come on, get these cuffs off me, would you?"

He turned so that Bucky could see where he was attached to the bed and Bucky's frown darkened. He strode over to the bed looking every inch the Winter Soldier, which definitely shouldn't have been hot, grabbed the cuffs in his metal hand and pulled them apart as if they were paper.

"Oh man, thank you," said Clint, easing his arms around against the burn in his shoulders and rubbing at his wrists.

 _No problem,_ signed Bucky. _Next time, just try to avoid getting—_ he hesitated, and then made a face. _Don't know the word._

Clint laughed. "Kidnapped," he said, signing it at the same time. "I'm guessing most online vocab lists don't bother including it. You're pretty good, for someone who was just learning out of boredom."

Bucky shrugged, but he looked self-conscious about it. _Whatever Hydra did to me made my memory a lot better._

Clint pulled himself off the bed, trying to hide how straightening up made his ribs ache. "When we're back at the Tower, I can show you some of the other vocab you might have missed out on," said Clint. "If you want."

He rolled his shoulders again to try and shake out the stiffness from having them trapped behind him. Bucky's eyes followed the movement and Clint tried to keep in his smirk. Hell yeah, he had excellent shoulders, Bucky should feel very free to ogle them.

"Do you know how to say 'thanks for the gun show'?" he asked.

Bucky blinked and tore his eyes away, his expression going shuttered. _Don't know what that means,_ he signed.

Clint suppressed a sigh. Maybe he should stop trying to be subtle and just put his cards on the table. "Means I'm trying to flirt with you."

Bucky froze, staring at him with wide eyes for an awkwardly long amount of time.

Clint cleared his throat. "If you want me to stop, I can, but—"

Bucky suddenly twitched and turned towards the door and for a moment Clint thought he was freaking out and getting the hell away from the idiot archer who wouldn't stop hitting on him, but then he saw that Anton had come in, a gun held in one hand and something small and black in the other.

Man, why the hell hadn't Clint got hold of a weapon as soon as he was free, rather than messing about trying to flirt?

"I won't let you #### him," Anton said, clearly enough for Clint to catch it. Well, to catch most of it, and he could make an educated guess at the missing word. He was so fucking sick of Anton treating him like a possession rather than someone who had his own ideas on who he was going to let _have_ him.

Bucky threw himself at Anton, pulling his gun from his waistband as he moved. Anton fired, but the bullet just pinged uselessly off Bucky's metal arm and apparently that was enough of a warning sign for him to run.

Clint couldn't really blame him. He'd seen Bucky's face when he was in full-on 'the Winter Soldier is going to terminate you with extreme prejudice' mode, and he'd run too. Bucky started after Anton, then glanced back at Clint.

“I'm coming,” said Clint. “Is Natasha around?”

Bucky shook his head. _Stark found two places in this area owned by Anton. We didn't want to hit the wrong one first and risk him running off with you, so we split up to get them both at the same time. Now I've got you, she's coming to pick us up._

Clint nodded. “Right, then we better be ready to go when she gets here. She hates being kept waiting. Just, let me—” He dashed back out towards the balcony, doing his best to avoid the broken glass with his bare feet, and grabbed one of the guns lying next to the two corpses. It had a strap on it, which he slung over his shoulder.

Bucky was watching him from the doorway with a faint look of disbelief. Clint raised his eyebrows at him as he picked his way back through the minefield of glass shards.

 _Just the gun?_ signed Bucky awkwardly, one hand still holding his gun. _Not their boots, or a jacket?_

Clint glanced down at the totally classy purple boxers he was wearing. “Nah, take too long,” he said. “Let's just get out of here, yeah? I've got clothes back at the hotel.”

Bucky shook his head but turned back towards the door, ducking his head out to check the corridor. He slipped out a moment later, beckoning Clint to follow him.

Clint had assumed from the bedroom that they were in a house of some kind, but it turned out to be a lot bigger than that, a super-fancy villa with room after room, all with wide windows facing out over the sea on one side or a landscaped garden on the other. He and Bucky sprinted along the corridor, heading for the stairs at the end that spiralled down with delicately carved banisters down both sides. The carpet was soft and expensive under his feet, and probably noiseless, which was good if Anton was still wandering about somewhere.

Of course, Clint had no way to tell if it was or not, which meant he was relying on Bucky's ears. He hated relying on other people's ears, but if he had to pick someone for it, then-—well, then it would be Nat, but Bucky would be a close second.

Which was, of course, exactly what he was thinking as Bucky suddenly turned to his left, raising his gun and gesturing Clint to get back. A shot came out of the doorway on the left and buried itself in Bucky's shoulder and he fell back, blood already spilling down his shirt.

Shit, shit, shit. Clint grabbed his gun in both hands and turned to meet the threat.

****

In Bucky's defence, he was pretty seriously distracted when he got shot. Having Clint prancing around in nothing but a pair of boxers and with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder was driving him nuts. How the hell was he meant to concentrate on anything else? Jesus Christ, the boxers were _purple_.

Especially after _Means I'm trying to flirt with you_. If Clint was trying to flirt with Bucky, did that mean he was actually interested in something more than friendship or teammates or whatever they were at the moment? Should Bucky be flirting back or stepping away? Would he be messing with the team dynamics if he just gave in to temptation?

Everyone seemed really relaxed about the idea of Steve and Tony getting together, but they'd been in the team from the start and were pretty much the heart of it as well.

But then, if they did get together and then broke up, and it got messy, it might rip the team apart. If Clint and Bucky got together and broke up, well, Bucky could just leave. He was only really an Avenger because of Steve, after all, he could go and do something else.

There had to be something he was good at that didn't involve shooting people.

Or they could just avoid each other. Take it in turns to go on missions. Neither of them were so vital that the team would fall apart without them. Or at least Bucky wasn't. He figured Steve might take his side, but pretty much everyone else on the team was more likely to favour Clint. He'd been part of it much longer, hadn't been on the wrong side for seven decades, and didn't occasionally have to go hide in his room until the violent urges went away.

Maybe Bucky shouldn't be planning for worst case scenarios, though. Maybe he and Clint would get together and stay together, or maybe it would just be a casual thing and there would be no fall out once they'd drifted apart or—

No. Bucky couldn't imagine being casual about this. He could remember finding it easy to go from woman to woman before the war, but he wouldn't be able to do that now. If he gave in to his feelings for Clint, he'd fall fast and hard, and wouldn't cope well if it fell apart on him.

He tried his best to shove those thoughts aside as they moved through the villa. He was very aware of Clint behind him, bare feet so silent on the carpet that if Bucky hadn't had enhanced hearing, he wouldn't have heard him. He'd dialled his comms down so that he could concentrate on the noises around them of henchmen moving about in the distance and calling to one another. Except, of course, he was concentrating on Clint instead, on how far behind Bucky he was and just what he had looked like wearing nothing but his underwear while lounging in bed. God, Bucky could imagine him just like that in his own bed, grinning and beckoning Bucky in, telling him that Bucky could take off the boxers himself.

And then Bucky was shot, pretty much out of nowhere. Clint moved forward as if to protect him, swinging his gun up to return fire. There were two men in the room and Clint nailed one of them easily. Bucky pulled himself together, ignoring the pain, and got the other one.

"Christ," said Clint, "you okay?" He was talking slightly too loudly and the consonants at the end of his words kept sliding away. Bucky probably shouldn't find it as endearing as he did.

Bucky nodded, looking up and down the corridor to make sure there wasn't anyone else coming before he glanced at his shoulder. The bullet had gone straight through, missing his collar bone. It was going to make moving his arm more difficult, but once he had a chance to patch it up, it would be healed in a couple of days.

 _Fine,_ he signed. Just feeling like an idiot for letting himself get distracted during a mission. He really needed to stop thinking about all the naked flesh on display in front of him.

From below, he could hear stamping feet as the noise of the shots brought unwanted attention. Bucky scowled. How many henchmen did this guy have?

He gestured down the stairs and signed, _More coming_.

Clint nodded. "Come on then, let's get—"

The grenade landed precisely between the two of them, then rolled a bit further down the corridor. Bucky reacted without even thinking about it, pushing Clint into the room behind him while kicking at the grenade to send it further along the corridor at the same time.

Bucky put some of the force of his metal arm into his push and Clint went flying backwards, landing well inside the room so that when the grenade went off he was protected by the walls. Bucky was caught still in the blast area; he was thrown sideways, down the stairs, as bits of plaster rained down on him.

He crashed into the wall head-first, hard enough to make everything go black for a moment. When he came back to himself, the world was muted and blurred at the edges as black-clad men rushed up towards him, guns raised.

Clint. He had to protect Clint.

He raised his arm to ward off the bullets, then pulled himself up and threw himself at the first man. He'd lost his gun in the explosion but Hydra had made sure he'd never be without a weapon. He drove his metal fist into the man's face, then knocked him aside so that he could grab at the neck of the next one.

As his ears recovered from the explosion he was aware of shouts going on around him and more gunshots, but he didn't bother paying attention. He'd slipped back into that place that Hydra had created inside his head, where there was nothing but the fight, no thoughts except the next hit.

He had no idea how many men he took down as he advanced down the stairs. At one point one of them tried to get past him and he lashed out with his foot, kicking him right through the banister and into the hall below. No one was getting up to Clint, he was going to protect him. No matter what.

His mind cleared slowly from the shock of the explosion, until he felt more like himself and less like the Winter Soldier. He grabbed a gun from someone's hands and knocked him out with it, and the last man standing turned and fled. Bucky let him go, pausing to take in a couple of breaths.

His shoulder was aching with pain from the bullet wound and his head was thumping, but he knew himself well enough to know those were only minor injuries. There was no one left standing in the hallway but plenty of bodies scattered around. Hopefully most of them were still alive, but he couldn't bring himself to care a whole lot about that right now. He'd get his Avengers-are-good-guys head on later, once he'd made sure Clint was safe.

There was no sign of Clint. That sent an alarm ringing in his mind. There was no way that Clint would have done the intelligent thing and hung back from the fight while he had no hearing aids, no shoes and only a stolen gun to fight with. Bucky knew him well enough to know he would have come barrelling down to help Bucky as soon as he realised there was a fight.

"Clint?" he called up, and then realised his error. Next time, he'd bring a spare pair of Clint's aids with him. Maybe he should add a pocket put into his uniform for them, so that he always had them close at hand.

He turned to start back up the stairs.

"The Winter Soldier," said a voice before he'd gone more than a couple of steps, and Bucky spun to see Anton at the other end of the corridor. "My uncle used to tell me horror stories about you. I see they were not exaggerated."

God, why wouldn't this guy just scuttle off like the bottom-feeder he was?

Bucky didn't even bother replying, he just raised the gun he was still holding and—

And Anton pressed something in his hand that emitted a high-pitched whirring sound that went right into Bucky's skull, locking his muscles up and sending blood pounding into his temples. His comms earpiece made a very unhappy noise and then abruptly went dead.

Bucky couldn't move. His finger was resting on the trigger, but he couldn't move it the inch needed to pull it. Stark's damned sonic taser.

Anton laughed. "And I will be the one to take you down. My uncle will be so proud."

He strode down the corridor towards Bucky with a smug grin that made Bucky itch to punch him. "And then I will use this on your Hawkeye and make him into my Daniel instead. I rather like the idea of taking all the cheek out of him like this."

Clint's cheek was one of Bucky's favourite things about him. He struggled to move but there was nothing from his muscles. It was like being shut up in cryo again, held down and imprisoned inside his own body. He could feel himself starting to panic. He need to get free, he needed to take this guy down so that he could protect Clint.

He wasn't sure how far away Natasha was, but he was willing to bet that it was too far to get to them before Anton had killed Bucky and taken Clint off to do whatever it was he wanted to do to him. Bucky was trying to not think about the details of that too much.

There was a thump from upstairs and Anton glanced up behind him. "That will be him now. I wonder, should I let you see me take him before I kill you? I do rather want to take my time with you, make sure you really feel just how much you have annoyed me."

A shot whizzed past Bucky's head from behind him. He tried to flinch away, but even that was denied to him.

Anton ducked around so that Bucky's body covered him. "I thought you were meant to be a crack shot," he called, then tutted to himself. "Ah, of course. He can't hear me."

Footsteps came down the stairs. Bucky's frustration surged at not being able to turn around and see what was happening. Anton pulled out a knife and set it to Bucky's throat, pressing in close enough to sting.

"Your guns are shit," Clint said from behind him. "Did you get them second-hand? This one's bent to the left. Well, okay, that could be from the grenade, but still. Shit."

"Drop it, or I'll slice his throat," said Anton.

Clint let out a sigh. "Seriously man, you need to go away and work out what 'deaf' means, and stop trying to talk to me."

There were more steps as Clint came closer. The knife bit further into Bucky's throat and Anton made an irritated noise.

"Stop!" he called over Bucky's shoulder.

Clint stopped. "Okay, I got that one," he said. "If I were you, I'd go careful with Captain America's best friend there. You shoulda seen what Cap did to the last guy who tried to hurt him."

Anton made a gesture over Bucky's shoulder. "Drop. The. Gun," he repeated, over-enunciating.

"Okay, sure," said Clint, and there was a clatter. "Just stay chill, yeah? Why don't you just make a run for it? Get away before one of us loses our temper and just takes you out?"

"No," growled Anton, and there was something unhinged about his voice. "Not without you, Daniel. You will be mine."

Bucky had been in the presence of enough criminally insane people to recognise the sick chill in his stomach. At some point, Anton's thing for Clint had tipped over into straight-up obsessive delusion, and now it was running the show.

“Did you seriously just call me Daniel again?” said Clint. “I swear to god, man, I'd tattoo Clint on your forehead to help you remember if I didn't think you'd like it too much.” He was still moving closer and Bucky assumed he was trying to get close enough to take Anton out. He wanted to be able to yell at Clint to just run and get himself safe but even if he could have moved his tongue, he doubted Clint would have listened.

“You'll be Daniel by the end,” said Anton, fervently. “I will _make_ you into him.”

It was probably a good thing that Clint couldn't hear him. No one needed to hear that kind of vile shit about themselves.

“And it starts here,” said Anton, and activated the sonic taser again.

It hurt just as much the second time. The noise drilled through Bucky, making his veins feel as if they were about to burst open from the pressure in them. For a horrifying moment he thought it had stopped him breathing, but he managed to drag in a lungful of air.

Behind him, there was an abrupt end to all sound and Anton laughed, letting the knife drop from Bucky's throat as he stepped away from him. “Oh Daniel, now you're mine,” he said, passing out of Bucky's view and behind him to where Clint was. “Finally still and ready for me to do whatever I—”

There was a heavy sound of impact and Anton flew past Bucky to land in a heap on the floor. The knife went flying.

“Deaf!” said Clint as he ran past to kick Anton in the stomach, sending him tumbling across the floor. “Come on, man, I've said it, like, a hundred times now. Sonic weapons aren't gonna work on me.”

Anton growled and rolled away as Clint tried to kick him again, then grabbed at Clint's bare foot, wrenching it hard enough to send him off-balance. Clint tore himself free and kept on his feet, but it gave Anton a chance to get back up. They faced off against each other, both of them unarmed but with one of them in just boxers and bruises, it was easy to see who had the advantage.

Whatever Clint had been doing upstairs had only served to make him more of a mess. Bucky had found it heart-breaking enough when he'd found him, bruises littering his body and a trail of blood marring his mouth from a split lip. Now, he'd added a cut on his forehead, a scuff of skinned flesh down the back of one arm and a bruise at the base of his ribs that was turning so dark it looked like he'd been covered with boot polish.

Anton, on the other hand, was not just clothed but fresh-looking. He grinned at Clint with a feral look and threw himself at him.

Bucky would have given anything to be able to move right then. Held in place, sucking in breaths that were only slowly getting easier, he watched as Clint and Anton fought. He still had his gun pointed out in front of him, but he couldn't move any part of his hand, let alone his trigger finger.

It was clear that Clint was the better fighter but his injuries and exhaustion were telling on him. He moved just a fraction too slow more than once and, with nothing covering his skin, it was all too obvious where his vulnerable spots were. Anton wasn't a fool and apparently didn't have enough sentimentality about preserving his precious 'Daniel' to hold his punches. He went for Clint's ribs hard enough that Bucky heard them crack, then stomped at Clint's foot with his heavy boots when Clint flinched back.

Clint danced out of the way just in time to preserve his toes but he had one arm wrapped around his chest now. Bucky strained to move so he could come to his aid, but there was nothing he could do. Whatever Stark's gadget had done to his brain, it had done it all too well. From what he could remember of his handler's briefing, back when he'd used a sonic taser for Hydra, it took at least fifteen minutes to wear off, and he'd been hit by it twice. There was a very real possibility he was about to watch Clint be beaten to death in front of his eyes while he was unable to do a damned thing about it.

Anton laughed and threw a punch that Clint ducked rather than move his arm from his ribs to block. “I will have you on your knees, one way or another.”

Clint scowled. “Still fucking deaf, moron,” he grunted, sending a punch at Anton's face that connected with barely enough force to throw his head back. Anton kicked at Clint's bare feet again and this time caught them, crushing his toes with the sound of crunching bones. Clint howled in pain and dropped back, leaning against the wall for a moment before Anton knocked him all the way down to the ground with another blow.

Clint sprawled on the floor and Anton laughed again, then kicked him in the stomach, driving all the air out of him. “Beg me for mercy,” he snarled. “Beg. Can you understand that word? Beg.”

Bucky was going to break every bone in Anton's body and slice his skin off, inch by inch. Just as soon as he could move, god, why couldn't he just _move_?

“Fuck you,” snarled Clint, and suddenly moved so fast that Bucky nearly missed it, pulling the knife Anton had dropped earlier out from under his body and stabbing up into Anton's stomach.

Anton let out a choked noise and stumbled backwards, staring at Clint with wide eyes as blood welled up from his stomach. “You— Daniel,” he breathed, then collapsed down to the ground.

“ _Clint_ ,” gritted out Clint, pulling himself to his feet. He was moving easier than he had been when he'd been feinting back, drawing Anton over to where the knife was without drawing attention to it. He was still clutching at his ribs though, and he limped as he walked over to Anton. “My name is Clint fucking Barton, you asshole,” he said, and ripped the knife out of Anton's stomach.

The flow of blood turned to a river. Anton drew in a ragged breath but before he could exhale, he was dead.

Clint stumbled over to Bucky and touched his cheek. “You okay, man? Wait, I know, stupid question, just—” He flinched and then winced. “Okay, ribs definitely broken. Probably bits of my foot as well, but my fingers are fine, so I can still shoot. That's the most important thing, yeah?”

He took hold of the gun still clenched in Bucky's hand and carefully pulled it free. “I'm just gonna— gonna keep hold of this for a moment, okay? Just in case any other fuckers turn up. Natasha's coming, right? She better be coming, I don't think I can drive right now.”

He swayed and then leaned in towards Bucky as if to brace himself, ending up partially propped against his chest. Bucky ached to put his arms around him. “Or walk, really. Holy shit, this fucking hurts, I'm so glad that bastard is finally dead.”

He looped one arm around Bucky's waist and rested his forehead on Bucky's shoulder. “Oh man, definitely taking advantage of the paralysed guy now,” he muttered. “Sorry, sorry, blame the pain. And the concussion. Maybe the other concussion. Did I mention I thought I had one earlier? Probably not, that's the kind of shit I keep quiet about.”

He swayed again and then gently sank down to sit at Bucky's feet instead of holding on to him. “Oh, okay, that might be a— a thing. In my lung. God, Bucky, sorry, so sorry, seem to be a bit more injured than I'd counted on.”

He was leaning against Bucky's legs, gun still clutched in his hand as if he was going to have a hope in hell of getting a shot off at any bad guys who turned up before they gunned them both down. Bucky's whole body was filled up with affection for him, for this trainwreck of a guy who could take out a Ukrainian mafia boss while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and then apologise for being beaten up afterwards. Screw it, screw all that team bullshit he was worrying about earlier. Bucky was going to make a play for this guy, and then do everything he could to keep him, because he couldn't stand the idea of anything else.

“Okay, I'm sure Tasha's real close,” muttered Clint. “But I'm just gonna shut my eyes a sec, okay? Just, everything hurts.”

Of course, there was going to be no point in coming to that decision if Clint didn't make it through this. Bucky made a superhuman effort and managed to twitch his fingers. Oh god, he just wanted to be able to sink down to his knees, wrap his arms around Clint and tell him to hold on because Bucky needed him to be okay.

He thought about all the times that he could have reached out for him, all the times he'd wanted to but had held himself still instead. What the hell had he been thinking?

One of his fingers twitched and he focused on it, trying to will the rest of his muscles to unlock. The minute he could, he was going to grab hold of Clint and not let go.

****

Clint woke up to the smell of antiseptic and a steady beeping sound and knew immediately that he was in a hospital. It took him a moment to get his brain online enough to piece together the events that had put him there, but eventually he remembered feeling like he'd been run over by a steamroller, pain radiating from every part of him but especially his chest.

Bucky had been there, paralysed, and Clint had meant to keep watch until the sonic taser had worn off, but he'd been exhausted. He'd settled down at Bucky's feet and felt himself just drifting away despite his best efforts to hold on, clinging to Bucky's legs as if he could hold onto consciousness if he just had a good enough grip.

Everything after that was a pain-filled blur, although he thought he could remember Bucky's face in front of him and a gentle hand brushing through his hair. That might just have been a hallucination though.

Or maybe it wasn’t, he thought as he blinked his eyes open. Bucky was the first thing he saw, slumped next to Clint's bed and frowning at the wall. At some point he'd had a shower and changed, but he looked exhausted. It made Clint want to pet at his face until he looked better.

It was possible he'd been given a lot of drugs. The really good kind.

"Finally," said a voice to Clint's left and he rolled his eyes to see that Natasha had been standing by the window. She strode over to him and took his hand. "You spend too much time asleep."

Bucky sat up with a start, leaning forward. "Clint."

Clint gave them both a smile. "Hey, hey," he said, hearing his voice slur. "My two favourite people."

It occurred to him that he was hearing things now and hadn't been before. He reached up with the hand Natasha wasn't holding and patted at his ears. Huh, new aids.

Bucky took his hand and pulled it away. "We found your spares."

Oh right, he’d had spares in his bag at the hotel. He glanced around. "S'is Monaco?"

"Bordighera," said Natasha. "Anton's villa was across the border in Italy."

Clint considered that for a moment. "So, the coffee'll be good?"

Bucky snorted. "Your priorities are out of whack, Barton."

He looked less exhausted, as if Clint waking up had somehow also woken him up, and there was a warm look around his eyes that Clint thought might be affection. He beamed at him. "They're fine," he said. "It's all fine. Oh, hey, you were shot."

"I'm fine," said Bucky. "Pretty much healed already. You've been out a few days."

"Huh," said Clint. A few days. He must have been pretty beaten up, then. He glanced down at where the dull ache of pain was coming from, behind the mist of the drugs, and saw layers of bandages wrapped around his chest. "Do I wanna know?"

Natasha let out a snort. "Not the worst you've had," she said, "although you came close. I'm sure the doctors will fill you in on the details, once you're back with it."

"I'm with it," protested Clint.

"You're really not," said Bucky. He patted at Clint's arm. "I'm kinda enjoying it."

Clint frowned at him, wondering if he should take offence, but he was distracted by the way the light reflected off Bucky's arm as he moved it. He reached out a finger and touched one of the shiny plates.

"You weren't moving," he remembered.

"Yeah," said Bucky. "That fucker used Stark's taser on me. But you took him out."

"Yeah, I did," agreed Clint. "Oh, oh wait, did we get the taser off him?"

"Yes," said Natasha. "I retrieved it from his corpse."

Clint felt a wide grin spread over his face. "So the mission was a success? Awesome! We're the best."

"Oh yeah," said Natasha dryly. "This was a complete success." She shook her head. "I'm going to call the others and let them know you're awake."

She gave Bucky a look as she went out that Clint wasn't up to interpreting right now. Instead, he rolled his head on the pillow and smiled at him.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said. He brushed his fingers over Bucky's metal arm again, tracing around his wrist. "Didn't like Anton threatening you."

"I didn't much like him threatening you, either," said Bucky. He moved his other hand to touch the back of Clint's, sandwiching it between his metal arm and his real one.

"I know we're meant to be the good guys," said Clint, "but I'm really glad he's dead." He flexed his fingers against the metal plates, wondering if Bucky wanted him to let go and pull away, or if he'd moved his hand for the same reason that Clint had reached out for him, because he just really wanted to be touching Clint right now.

"Taken out by a guy wearing nothing but purple boxers," said Bucky. His hand grew bolder, moving to rest completely over Clint's rather than just brushing him with his fingers. Guess that answered that question. "Feels like the kinda ending he deserved."

"Those boxers are great," said Clint, taking a risk and turning his hand, sliding his fingers between Bucky's and holding on. "Oh, wait. They're probably toast now, aren't they?"

"Yeah, sorry," said Bucky, staring down at their hands. He cleared his throat and looked up. "I liked them too. I'll see if I can get you another pair."

He tightened his grip on Clint's hand, and Clint wasn't sure what to do with that. It felt like this was a thing, that finally they were on the same page, but what if it wasn't that? What if it was just some post-traumatic experience thing, or just Bucky humouring him?

But then, you didn't talk about buying another guy underwear unless you meant something by it. Did you?

Clint's head hurt and the ache in his chest was starting to build as the drugs wore off. This whole thing was too confusing for him to pick through for clues on what he should do right now.

He squeezed Bucky's hand. "What does that mean?" he asked, possibly a little plaintively.

Bucky looked down at their hands then back up at Clint. He swallowed, then gave a little shrug as if trying to pass it off. "Means I'm trying to flirt with you."

It took Clint a moment to do more than smile at him. "Good," he said. "That's good. I was hoping you were."

Bucky snorted and then shook his head. He moved Clint's hand back to rest on the bed, but kept hold of it. "I'm gonna take that with a pinch of salt, given how stoned you are right now."

"Wanted it when I wasn't stoned," Clint insisted. "Wanted— Well. Wanted a lot." Tiredness was beginning to pluck at his mind but he was determined to stay awake until this conversation was done.

"Yeah, me too," said Bucky, quietly. "Just— Clint. We haveta be careful with this, yeah? I don't want to mess with the team."

Clint made rude noise. It was kinda fun, so he made it again before he spoke. "Team's all grown-ups. If we make a mess, then that's on us, they can just lump it. Not like we've had any problems with Steve and Tony's epic pining, right?"

Bucky shook his head but didn't argue that. He just squeezed Clint's hand, hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Clint's in a soft kiss that drove all other thoughts out of Clint's mind. "Just rest," he said. "We can talk about this properly when you're feeling better."

Clint smiled at him. "I seem to suddenly be feeling a lot better," he said, exhaustion making him mumble. "We'll do more of that later as well, yeah?"

"Oh yeah," said Bucky as Clint's eyelids fell shut. "Lots and lots."

****

They kept Clint in hospital for a few more days, during which time Bucky didn't really move from his bedside. The nurses made a couple of attempts to get him to leave at the end of the day, but he just glared at them until they went away. Eventually, Natasha let out a sigh and spoke to them, pulling some of her manipulative magic that meant they didn't bother trying again.

She was in and out, clearing up the details with the French, Italian and Monaco police, all of whom they'd managed to piss off at some point during their _totally successful_ mission. Clint had a feeling she was also dealing with the PR side of it, which he was happy to leave in her hands. He really hated dealing with the media.

Clint slept for most of it but that didn't stop him finding time to do a bit more flirting with Bucky and scoring a few more kisses from him.

"This is good," he said, running his hand down Bucky's arm. He was propped upright in bed and Bucky was sitting on the edge beside him so that he could reach to kiss him, his metal hand braced on the bed on the other side of Clint's lap so that he was bracketed by his body.

Bucky snorted. "I think maybe it's the drugs that are good."

Clint shook his head. "Nah, they're weaning me off those. It's definitely this." Bucky was only wearing a t-shirt, so it was all too easy to stroke over his side down to his waist, then slip a hand under his shirt to find skin and just hold on. "Looking forward to there being a bit more than this, without any nurses wandering in at the wrong moment."

Bucky snorted. "You're gonna have to be a lot better before we do anything particularly athletic," he said. "I know exactly what's under those bandages, remember? Not risking making anything worse."

Clint huffed out a sigh. "You better not be coddling me just cuz I can't heal from being shot in two days."

Bucky rolled his shoulder, where the bullet wound was little more than a red mark, and looked smug. "Maybe I just like coddling you."

Clint suffered through the pain of leaning forward in order to kiss him. "Bet you ten bucks you'll enjoy fucking me more."

Bucky snorted, kissing him back. "No bet. You ever wonder if you maybe have a gambling problem?"

"Nope," said Clint, carefully settling back against the pillows. "I mean, I kinda gambled on you and that worked out pretty well, right? No problem at all."

Bucky rolled his eyes but he was smiling, so Clint counted it as a win.

When he was released, Natasha and Bucky took him in a wheelchair down to the back entrance of the hospital.

"The media got hold of the fact that you're being released," said Natasha. "They've gathered out the front like vultures."

"Maybe we should have gone out that way," said Clint. "Got some photos of me in the papers so that the next creepy obsessive dude at least knows who I am."

"There won't be a 'next' creepy obsessive dude," said Bucky, darkly. "Not one that gets anywhere near you."

Clint patted at his arm as they went down in the freight elevator. "It's cool, next time I'll lead with 'the Winter Soldier is my boyfriend'." It was only after he'd said it that a moment of heart-stopping doubt attacked him. Was it too soon for 'boyfriend'? They'd just been kissing and messing about, maybe that was too—

"Maybe make that 'the Winter Soldier is my violently over-protective boyfriend'," said Bucky, and Clint relaxed. Okay, great. Apparently he had a boyfriend. That was pretty cool.

"And 'Black Widow is my violently over-protective best friend'," added Natasha as they got to the bottom of the lift. "Don't mention that if you pull this crap too many times I'm just going to leave you to it."

The doors opened and any protest Clint might have had about that died on his lips. "Hey, what happened to the awesome car?”

There was an awkward pause. He turned and glared up at Natasha. “What did you do?”

“Bucky was driving,” she said, quickly, and Clint turned his glare on him.

Bucky sighed. “It got a bit— Um. Bullet-filled.”

Clint heard himself make a whimpering noise at the thought of all that beauty being trashed, but had no shame over it. It had been an incredible car, it deserved to be mourned.

"Didn't you smash up two luxury yachts as well?" he asked. “How come I'm the one with the reputation for destroying vehicles?”

"Because we don’t have case files stretching back years proving it's not just a reputation," said Natasha. She stopped the wheelchair and opened up the car door. “You need help, or—?”

“I can do it,” said Clint, standing up and desperately acting as if it was easy. He shuffled over to the car and got in. “This just isn't the same. That car was perfect. I can't believe you killed it.”

Bucky climbed in on the other side of the car as Natasha took the wheelchair back to the elevator. “When Stark and Steve finally get their acts together, you could wait until Stark's high on post-coital bliss, then ask him to buy you one,” he suggested.

Clint gave him an admiring look. “Brains and beauty. Best boyfriend ever.”

Bucky ducked his head, shrugging a shoulder. “Not really,” he said, and looked back up with a more serious expression. “You know my brain's still kinda...messy, right?”

“My everything is kinda messy,” said Clint. Bucky didn't look mollified and he reached out to take his hand. “Hey, come on. This isn't about being perfect. This is about being together.”

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, then let out a quiet laugh. “You hide those smarts pretty deep,” he said, and leaned over to kiss him, which Clint was very happy to go along with.

Natasha climbed into the driver's seat. “Ready to head home, kids?”

“So very ready,” said Clint. Bucky moved back to his seat, but kept hold of Clint's hand. That was fine, Clint was more than happy to let him keep it.

****

Tony was in the kitchen making coffee when he heard the quinjet coming in to land. He grabbed his crutches and headed out to the main lounge, which had a view out over the landing pad.

Steve was already there, frowning down at it as the quinjet touched down. Tony was expecting him to rush off to greet Bucky but he stayed where he was as the engines powered down and the door opened up.

When Bucky got out, Tony worked out why. He had one arm locked around Clint's waist and was grinning at him in a way that made his whole face light up. Tony hadn't seen anything close to that level of happiness on him before. It made him look like a completely different person. He guessed that was the person Steve had known growing up.

Steve let out a quiet sigh. "Guess they figured that out, then," he said, as Clint flailed at Bucky's chest as if trying to push him away and prove he didn't need any help. Bucky just ignored him in favour of pressing a kiss to his lips. “They'll be even more trouble together after this.”

Tony didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, good for the two of them, they looked very happy, but on the other... Well, Tony knew all too well just how much it hurt to watch someone you cared about making eyes at someone else.

There was nothing Tony could do to stop Steve hurting over this, though. He'd been trying to come up with something ever since Steve had dropped the bombshell that Bucky was crushing on someone not him.

And on Clint of all people. Christ, Tony knew it took all sorts, but why would you go for Clint when you could have Steve? Why would you ever go for anyone else?

It was possible he was biased.

Natasha climbed out behind Bucky and Clint, carrying the bags, and said something that made Bucky turn a glare on her, but it wasn't strong enough to hide that he was basically still glowing with contentment.

"It's good to see him happy," said Steve.

Oh man, Tony couldn't cope with this. He gave up on trying to pretend he was oblivious and shifted his weight so that he could lean the crutch closest to Steve on the window. He pressed his free hand to the small of Steve's back in what he hoped was a supportive gesture.

"I'm sorry," he said.

There was a quiet pause, then Steve turned to frown at him. "For what?"

Tony shrugged. "You know," he said. He didn't really want to get into the whole thing, but he also didn't wanted to leave Steve thinking he had to suffer through alone. "Just saying. I'm sorry about it, and if you need someone to talk to..." Please god, don't let Steve need someone to talk to. Tony was doing his best to be a good guy, but listening to Steve go on about how much he wanted to be with someone else might just drive him over the edge.

Steve shook his head. "Talk to about what? Seriously, Tony, I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Come on, it's just me, you don't need to pretend with me. I'm just saying. It's good Bucky's happy, I'm just sorry that it's not with you."

Steve stared at him for a worryingly long time and Tony wondered if he'd really thought no one had any idea.

"Wait," said Steve, eventually. "Hang on. Do you think I'm sweet on Bucky?"

Well, Tony couldn't help him if he was going to pull the deny-everything card. He turned back to the window, where Bucky and Clint had made it to the elevator. "Okay, fine, you're not at all, definitely not pining over him and calling him every five minutes to hear his voice and following him around like an eager puppy, none of it."

Steve kept just staring at the side of his head as Tony stared out at the city. He was angry, he realised. He'd thought that they were at least good enough friends for Steve to not lie to him.

"O-kay," said Steve, slowly. "I guess I can kinda see why you might think that, but you've got completely the wrong end of the stick. Bucky's like my brother. And yeah, okay, maybe I got a bit overprotective, but I thought he was dead and then he wasn't, and he's been going through all that stuff. I wanted to be there if he needed me." He shook his head. "I was actually just thinking that if he was together enough to start something with Clint, I could probably back off a bit."

"Right," said Tony, believing none of it. He grabbed for his crutch and started to wheel around, intending to head back to the coffee machine.

Steve grabbed his elbow and kept him in place. "And, if I can back off a bit, maybe I can find time for something else. Someone else."

What the hell was that meant to mean? Tony awkwardly turned on his one good leg so that he could frown at him. Steve was staring at his face with an intent look that didn't quite manage to hide his nervousness. What the hell did Captain America have to be nervous about?

"Someone else?" asked Tony. "So, you are pining after someone, then? Oh man, please tell me it's not Clint as well, that's a mess we don't need."

Steve snorted. "No, Tony, it's not Clint." He took a deep breath. "It's you."

Tony felt his eyes go wide. For a moment he couldn't do anything other than just stare at Steve, then he shook his head. "Bullshit."

Steve huffed a breath. "Of course you don't believe me," he said. "How about this, then?"

He wrapped an arm around Tony's waist, leaned in close and kissed him. Tony wobbled for a moment, dropping one of his crutches, then kissed back with everything he could manage without falling over, because he wasn't the kind of idiot who let a kiss from Steve Rogers go begging just because he couldn't get his brain to work.

Holy shit, Steve actually meant it. He was pining for Tony, not Bucky. Which, okay, at some point Tony was going to feel like an idiot for not having made a move months ago, but right now he was just going to enjoy having Steve's lips against his, his arm holding him up, his hand cupping around Tony's cheek.

It took several minutes for either of them to stop. Steve pulled back just enough to look at Tony's face. “This okay?”

Tony snorted. “If I'm doing anything that would make you think otherwise, let me know and I'll stop immediately.”

The smile that spread over Steve's face was breathtaking. “You want this too,” he said.

“I really do,” said Tony. “I'd say to an embarrassing extent, but I don't really do embarrassment, so how about we just kiss some more until I've got you convinced?”

Steve seemed pretty happy to go along with that plan, and they lost a few more minutes, Tony resolutely ignoring how tricky it was to balance on one leg and one crutch while making out with a supersoldier who you basically just wanted to climb like a tree.

There was a ding and the elevator doors opened. Tony ignored them in favour of clinging on to Steve and taking control of the kiss.

"Oh man," he heard Clint say, somewhere far off in the distance where people weren't being kissed by Steve. "Should we be backing away or giving them a round of applause?"

"Took them way too long to get any applause," said Bucky.

Steve was pulling away. Tony made a noise of protest and tried to keep him close, without much success, although Steve did keep enough of a hold on him to stop him falling on his ass.

"You really think you two are in a position to commentate right now?" he asked.

Clint looked like shit, even with the smirk on his face. He was leaning against the edge of the elevator door, one arm wrapped protectively around his chest and no weight resting on his bandage-wrapped left foot. He had a crutch of his own and bruises littered the bits of his skin that Tony could see.

"It took us a fraction of the time it took you guys," said Bucky, dismissively. "Plus, there was a whole lot less longing looks and angsty sighing." He held his arm out to Clint, who gave it an irritated look, but obligingly let himself be supported as he headed for the couch.

Okay, well, that pretty much signalled the end of the kissing-Steve time, which was disappointing. Tony glanced down at his dropped crutch and then back at Steve with a hopeful look.

Steve rolled his eyes, but let go of Tony once he was sure he was balanced on his remaining crutch, and bent to get it for him.

"Of course," said Clint, once he was on the sofa, "the real question is: who made the first move? And when?"

"First move of what?" asked Sam, coming out of the kitchen, carrying coffee.

"Steve and Tony finally pulled their heads outta their asses," said Clint. "Ooh, hey, coffee. Sam, take pity on a poor invalid, would you?"

"On two poor invalids," added Tony, heading for the sofa. "Especially the one that put the coffee on in the first place."

Sam looked from him to Clint and let out a sigh. "Oh man, I've just had a vision of the next few weeks, and it involves way more nurse-maiding than I thought I was signing up for when I joined an elite superhero team."

Steve followed Tony over to the sofa and settled beside him, close enough to put an arm around Tony's shoulders once he'd settled the crutches on the floor. Tony relaxed back into it and tried to not let his extreme levels of glee show on his face.

"Are you kidding?" asked Natasha, coming down from where she must have been putting the luggage away. "They both have super-soldier boyfriends now, which means they can do all the running about."

Boyfriends. Tony cleared his throat. "Uh, I don't think—"

"I think we should all take on the responsibility as a team," Steve interrupted him, "and not just leave it to people's boyfriends. Neither of you guys have boyfriends, after all, so you don't want to set a precedent that means you don't have anyone bringing you coffee when you break your leg."

Sam let out a sigh. "Okay, fine. Coffee it is then."

"For me too, please," said Natasha, settling down.

"Yeah, thanks Sam," said Bucky, giving him a shit-eating grin.

Sam let out a sigh and looked at Steve, who nodded. "Fine. Fine," he muttered, and headed back into the kitchen.

"So, no, seriously," said Clint to Tony and Steve. "Who made the first move?"

Tony felt his eyes narrow. Why did he care so much?

"I did," said Steve, easily, because he was an adorable innocent he didn't know to be suspicious of ex-carnie archers. "Just now, in fact. Why, who did you have in the betting pool?"

Okay, Tony stood corrected and needed to remember that Steve was basically perfect.

Clint didn't look embarrassed about being caught out. “Tony,” he said with a sigh, tipping his head back against the sofa to stare up at the ceiling. “Damnit, Stark, why did you pick now to learn some self-restraint?”

“Sorry not sorry,” said Tony.

Bucky grinned and held out his hand. “Pay up, Barton.”

Steve let out a tiny huff of amusement that only Tony heard. Because Tony was the one sitting right next to him, snuggled up against all his lovely super-soldier muscles and apparently in a relationship with him. Him. Tony Stark. 

Yeah, that was going to take a while to sink in.

“Seriously, Bucky? Where's the loyalty?”

Bucky shrugged. “I bet on you, didn't I?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, coming back with a tray of coffee mugs. “You also bet he'd take at least two weeks, which he didn't. You get nothing.”

“Hah!” said Clint, with triumph. “All's square then, no one wins so—”

Natasha clearly her throat. “Actually, I win,” she said.

“Yup,” agreed Sam, handing out the mugs of precious, life-giving coffee. Tony clutched his lovingly in both hands. “You guys both need to pay Nat.”

Clint and Bucky's heads swivelled towards Natasha in almost perfect synchronicity. “What did you bet?” asked Clint.

She gave him a placid smile. “That you two would get together before Steve and Tony did.” She held out her hand. “Pay up.”

Tony cackled at the looks on their faces. “Karma's a bitch, guys.”

“Oh,” she said, once she'd tucked the money away in her pocket, “and I've got this for you, Tony.” She pulled out the sonic taser and tossed it over to him.

Tony caught it and stared at it for a moment, the memories of Obie gloating over him as he sat, unable to move, uncomfortably close to the surface.

“Fucking vile piece of shit,” muttered Bucky.

“Yeah,” agreed Tony. He carefully set it down on the table in front of him, then glanced around. Someone, probably either Natasha or Bucky, had left a couple of knives under the coffee table. He pulled out the heaviest one, reversed it, and used the end of the handle to smash the sonic taser into as many small pieces as he could.

“If I'd known you were going to do that, I'da smashed it as soon as we got it,” said Bucky.

Tony shook his head. “Nah, much more satisfying to do it myself. JARVIS, mark down one less taser to go after, would you?”

“Records updated, sir,” said JARVIS.

Tony skipped the usual victory dance he did when he knocked another weapon off his list, because he needed to pretend he had some cool in front of these people. Instead, he gave Clint, Natasha and Bucky a grin as he settled back against Steve. “Thanks, guys. Hope it wasn't too much trouble.”

Clint made a choked noise. “Oh, you fucking asshole, I'll show you trouble,” he said, moving as if he were going to get up.

Bucky caught him around the waist and kept him in place, leaning in to kiss him as a distraction. It seemed to work pretty well.


End file.
